Careese Shots
by GingerRoseLee
Summary: A place for the little Careese daydreams I have at any given moment. Some will be short, some long. Some romantic, some silly, some familial, some surrounding the NYC gritty streets. But one thing they'll all have in common: Careese! Still working on the naming aspect of these, so bear with me there. Enjoy!
1. Aaron's First Day

**A/N: Our little guy Aaron is the star of this one, having aged to full on pre-preschooler. First days are bittersweet days.**

 **Shot No. 1: Aaron's First Day**

"Noooo!" Aaron cried to his parents. He had intentionally hung back from the brightly decorated and age-ready space where the sand table was, an inviting area for most any child, and now he was clutching his father's leg as he had done so many times before. When they'd taken his little jacket off and hung it up in a wooden cubby with his name over it, he knew. He knew exactly what his parents had in mind for him.

They had stayed with him for a little while, talking with Miss Nancy, reading him a story from the book corner, and drawing a few pictures with him at the activity table. That was wonderful. Just like home. But when it was time to go, and his jacket had come off, the panic that only a two year old could know set in, like a rising storm out of the darkness. So what if he'd met his teachers and liked them very much on his pre-visits? So what if the idea of a room full of toys, books, fingerpaint, pictures, and other little guys and gals his age was a nice idea? He wasn't born yesterday. All of that would happen without the two most important people in his world—and he wanted no part of it.

"Wan' go, Daddy," he protested, his big eyes filling with tears.

John, having been prepared for this possibility by Joss and Aaron's teachers, knelt down on the large ABC carpet square to give his son a reassuring hug and a few soothing words that he hoped might do the trick. He was only enrolled in the half-morning program, just enough time for him to have his lunch there before dismissal, but to John it might as well been him going off to college. To a little boy with no real concept of time, his parents were simply abandoning him.

"Aaron, son, it's okay. Mommy and Daddy will be back soon to pick you up, all right? Now, you be my sweet boy and have fun. Hey, you get to meet new friends and paint and go trike riding. And you're a pro at that. Maybe show some of the other kids the ropes, huh?"

"Nooooo...wan' go," he cried more, his head tucked into the crook of his father's neck. "No wan' go here. I wan' Mommy. I wan' Mommy...I goo' boy..."

"Oh, Aaron. Of course, you're my good boy," his father said softly.

John sighed and swallowed back a lump in his throat. The indulgence was only partly for Aaron. It was just shy of the two years since he was born, and in most of that time, Aaron had been raised at home, first with Joss and Corinne, and then with John on board. They had a tremendous bond. And John could see, that even as his little man pulled and cried in his arms, he was indeed growing up.

Joss, for her own part, pushed the stroller carrying Cedilla, their baby daughter, into a small waiting corner, near the block area, and also joined her husband and son on the carpet. She ran her fingers through his hair, freshly cut, parted on the side—just like Daddy's.

"Aaron, come here. Guess what? We love you. Mommy and Daddy love you so much. And you're going to have a wonderful day. You know why?"

"Why?" Aaron responded in his wee voice.

"Because Miss Nancy and Miss Joan will take good care of you. And you'll have lots and lots of fun. And guess what? Lissie goes here! She's in the class next door!"

Aaron lifted his head from Daddy's neck. "Where Lissie, Mommy?"

"Well, she's not here yet. You're the first one here today, on your first day. But she's coming. Her mommy told me she was coming. She'll be glad to see you."

"Noooo...nooo, I wan' go hoooooommme...go wi' baby Cedeee..."

"I know, Aaron, baby. But you can't just now. You'll be fine. In a few hours, Mommy will come and get you."

But he was not to be consoled, now seeking solace in her arms instead of John's. "Nooooooo!"

At that point, Miss Nancy, who reminded Joss a lot of her mother, gently intervened, the helpless expressions on John and Joss' faces her cue to move.

"Come, Aaron. Let's have your morning snack and then well see what we can play with first. You're early, so that's more time to get acquainted with the classroom!" To John and Joss, "He'll be okay. First days, as you know, are always tough."

John, nearly in silent tears himself, managed to get on his feet, careful to not let his boy, now in full on hysterics, see him in such a state. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Okay, Aaron. Come here and give Daddy a kiss. Come on, son."

Aaron clutched Daddy's body close, his little nails digging into his shoulders. Joss decided to catch her own kiss from the side as her boy cried and wailed at their impending separation. She rubbed and cooed to him, but nothing helped their little guy, his face reddened and spotted with tears. Finally, they just had to be resigned to letting him cry it out. Hopefully, he'd calm down eventually.

"Nancy, you have our numbers. You have my mother-in-law's number. If you need anything, _anything,_ one or the three of us is right here," John said, making a point of his point with his forefinger. "Take good care of our little boy."

"Oh, we will, Mr. Reese, don't you worry. And this is, of course, very normal. We're sure Aaron will be very happy here. Aaron, say bye-bye Mommy! Bye-bye, Daddy!"

Aaron had no such message for his parents. As their backs retreated away from him to drop off his little backpack and small lunchbag in his cubby, he wailed even more, wiggling as best he could in Miss Nancy's grasp. But Miss Nancy was a seasoned professional with kids Aaron's age—and she held fast to him, while walking him over to the waving window, the place where the children could go and say a last farewell until pickup time.

Once outside, John, Joss, and Cedilla greeted Aaron at the window, blowing kisses and giving waves, while Aaron continued to scream and howl. Miss Nancy and the rest of the ladies of Brooklyn Magnet's Pee Wee Tots Program were troopers. Even though John loved his young kids dearly, the two he had were quite the handful. They managed upwards of ten at a time. He had no idea how they did it.

"Did we do the right thing, Joss?" he asked, his voice suddenly shaken.

"Yes, John. If we want our boy to be ready for school, then he needs to be here."

"I guess you're right. Not that we couldn't give him what he needed to be ready for school, but-"

"I am right," she interrupted. "He's fine. And this will pass. You'll see. Besides, it's just for a few hours. I wouldn't have him here all day. That's part of the reason I left the force. But the interactions and relationships with children his age are important."

"Well, I don't have anything going on this afternoon. I suppose I could just hang out at the park across the street, I mean. Just until he stops crying."

"Oh, yes, you do. Dr. Nichol's office at 10:15, remember? And if Aaron knows you're around the place, he'll never get the hang of it. We have to let him spread his wings a little, baby. And being with the other kids is the best thing for his growth. He'll learn so much," she said, clearing her throat with a light caress to his belly.

He snorted. "Well, let's just hope he doesn't pick up any bad habits we wouldn't want him to. He's already saying 'no' left and right. I read that kids start biting at this age."

"John," Joss laughed. "We still have to let him go. And yes, that's a thing, but we'll deal with it."

"Mmm hmm, I know," he agreed. "It's just that, not too long ago, he was but the size of our sweetie here. Pretty soon, he'll be going out on dates. He won't need us for anything but money." He smirked back at her. Cedillia was still asleep, miraculously, even with all of Aaron's distress.

"Yes," she sighed. "They do grow up so fast. But watching it happen is worth everything."

John pulled back the blankets to see his little angel snoozing away, her binky bobbing up and down.

"Hey, little girl," he said softly. "Don't grow up so fast, okay?"

Joss grinned. After blowing a few more kisses at the window, where Aaron, now out of Miss Nancy's lap, stood, still crying, though not as forcefully as just a few moments before, she turned towards the Volvo.

It would have been nice to get some pictures, but that would have to keep for another, less weepy day.

 **A/N: Aaron's a trooper. He'll get over it once he's used to it (and will probably not want to leave school once he does). Now, if John will, that's another story, haha!**

 **And on that note, Happy Mother's Day to all of you!**


	2. The Train

**A/N: Trying my hand again at the one shot, times a bunch. I don't know how successful I will be at this, as I'm not the best writer, and keeping things low to the ground can be hard. But the ole college try is always worthwhile. There should be a couple of these to start with, and I'll see from there. Have fun, and thank you. :-)**

 **Shot No. 2: The Train**

"Come on, Carter, stay with me."

"John...John...I'm no good. I can't..."

"Yes, you can. Now, we're gonna get you outta here, but you have to stay with me." His tone was gruff but gentle.

"I can't see...can't feel my legs, John. So weak..."

"That's all right. I can see and feel for you. Just don't leave me, okay? Try to hang on until we get you to the safehouse. Everything's gonna be okay, Joss."

"Okay. I'll try, John. I'll...try. So tired...but we...got 'em. Didn't we? We got HR..."

"Yeah, Carter. We did."

They had made the Long Island Railroad train, just as the Machine had organized, just as Finch had said they would. Simmons and the rest of the HR brass had tried their best to snuff them both out, but they'd failed. John smiled to himself, despite the burning pain in his legs and arms, and his own exhaustion, and the fact that he was worried about Joss. She'd only taken one hit, on her left side, but her wound was more worrisome to him than his own. He'd merely been grazed by one of the bullets intended for his abdomen after a quick reflex allowed him to jump out of the way just in time. The concrete burn had been no fun, of course, and the skinned knees and elbows he received, smarted with as much pain as the bullet graze had.

Joss, however, had not been so lucky. One of the other bullets intended for him had caught her far more gravely. And now, he held her, as the sweat of her brow cooled her skin and she slid back and forth to him in consciousness. He had been doing his very best to keep wind of the situation down to a minimum on a sparsely boarded late-evening LIRR train, but at that point, he didn't give a damn. The people they'd needed to escape from they had. With the Machine's help, a wounded-yet-still-dangerous Simmons had been thrown off the trail, while the rest of HR, including its illustrious leader Alonzo Quinn, had been taken down by the feds.

Now, they hunkered down in the semi-darkness. He'd hastily torn at his white dress shirt to create a makeshift gauze, a desperate bid to staunch the bleeding from her wound.

To buy them some time.

It wasn't long before the white shirt was soaked crimson. But it had been holding steady. That was all he could pray for.

"We just need to make it to Montauk, Joss. The safehouse has all the best medical equipment and recovery room this side of a hospital. And we'll get you the best treatment. You're gonna get through this, Joss. I promise you. Just stay with me."

She didn't respond to that one. His blood chilled ice in his veins at the realization that she hadn't. He'd been running on adrenaline, halfway dragging, halfway carrying her in his arms to the platform. No fare was paid; the Machine controlled it all. His singleminded need to see her safe away from HR and Simmons had kept him going, kept him pushing on a pained leg. Now, the gravity that she'd slipped under again, and that they might not make it in time to wake her up the next time, anguished him like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

He looked down at her face. And then, the gauze. She was peaked, her skin still cool to the touch of his fingers on her cheek. She was still conscious, but she had her view fixated on nothing in particular. The lights of the city whizzed and streaked, and he could see the dimming in her eyes, even as the lights brightened and glided past them.

He hadn't stopped before to let himself realize how beautiful she was. Joss Carter, the tough-yet-fair 8th precinct homicide detective with the heart of gold and the unwavering sense of right and wrong, good and evil. But at the end of the day, she was a woman, too. A snappy, stylish woman that he suddenly found himself regretting that he didn't know in some other fashion; in some other life, a life not complicated with bad guys and corruption from far too many comers.

"John..."

Hearing his name had never been so good before.

"Yes, Joss?"

"Are we...safe now?"

He gently pulled the fingers of one hand away from her thigh, while the other arm and hand cradled her in his lap, and ran his fingers through her loosened locks. She was so precious to him. She was the most precious thing in the world—and he'd slay all the dragons himself before he'd let anything else happen to her.

"Yes. Yes, sweetheart. We're safe. We're gonna be all right. Not long. Not long now."

The earnest kiss to her forehead wasn't a fluke. It wasn't a surprise. He smiled to himself again as she whimpered and he pulled her closer to the warmth of his body. The lights continued to whizz by. The train rumbled on.

 **A/N: Inspired by "The Crossing", of course. A slightly different path than the show took. Hope you enjoyed this first Careese Shot. Thanks!**


	3. Chocolate

**A/N: This one veers towards the lightly romantic side of things, just a little.**

 **Shot No 3: Chocolate**

"All right boys, what have we got?" Detective Carter came on the scene of what appeared to have been a drive-by gone bad right in the heart of the Fashion District. It was something of a rare occurrence in that part of New York City nowadays. Rare—but not impossible. The hapless victim had been shoved behind a building, covered with boxes.

"Our vic here, white male, mid 30s, was shot point blank-range once in the chest. No signs of a struggle, possibly killed elsewhere and left here, but we aren't sure yet." Officer Wilmer said.

"Any ID on him?"

"Yeah," he responded. "Wallet still on him, driver's license, all other contents intact. Goes by the name of Jared Felsom of Queens. That's all we have so far. Next-of-kin is being notified, presently."

"All right, guys, thanks. Check around the area, minmium fifteen block radius. See if you can find any wittnesses who may have heard or seen anything unusual," Joss said with a sigh. It was a cool and wet day, a light rain having left a haze of mist in the air.

"You got it, Detective," Wilmer replied.

While Wilmer and the other officers, as well as the forensics team made sense of the crime scene, Joss paced the area for a block or two until she saw a familiar figure against a men's tailor shop. In his crisp dark suit and wingtipped shoes, John Reese was an unmistakable presence. She allowed her mouth to twist into an upturned smile while, careful to watch her surroundings, she sauntered over to where the stoic vigilante stood.

"Getting fitted for a new suit?"

"Good afternoon, Carter," he replied, staring straight ahead, but fully aware of everything around him. Most especially, her.

How did I know you'd be here somewhere, John?"

"Did you know, Detective? I would have never guessed you for the clairvoyant type."

"Wherever trouble finds itself, you and your friend are always right around the corner."

"Detective," he shot back, his voice low with mischief. "Can I help it if Finch and I are thorough?" In a more serious tone, and a nod to the crime scene, "what have you got, Carter?"

"Not sure yet. Fresh kill, though. Call came in about half hour ago of a body being discovered here, covered with boxes. Gunshot wound to the chest."

"I picked up all that much over the radio, Joss," John replied. "Any ideas on who and why?"

"Not until we get some witness statements. The boys are conducting initial interviews now."

"Well, if you need any help-"

"I know who to call, John."

"Yes, you do. Watch your back, Carter. I'll be in touch."

##

The coffee grew steadily colder as she mulled over events and details of the Felsom case, as well as the three other unsolved homicides she had on her desk. Between this guy and the two gang shootings from the month prior, she wasn't feeling all that optimistic about solving them. Too many loose ends, too many covered tracks. While it was early going on Felsom, getting eyewitness testimony was key—but much like with rough neighborhood crime, the high caliber Seventh Avenue crowd who might have seen or heard something were being just as difficult to crack.

She sighed. Carving out a coffee break, away from her desk, away from the 8th Precinct altogether, was necessary. And Joss Carter knew how to do what was necessary.

"Still burning the midnight oil, Detective?" a familiar, masculine voice quietly sounded out from behind her. Before she could say anything, he had invited himself to sit down at her booth. She flashed him a genuine, though exhausted smile.

"Finch must have given you the day off, John. That's two in a row, and you didn't even call first."

"How's it coming? He asked in response.

"Well," she sighed. "No one wants to talk much about what might have happened before we found this guy. So far, witnesses have told us what we already know: that Felsom was just lying there in the alley. The tip of his shoe was sticking up. That got people curious, and when they were brave enough to get closer, there he was. As for hearing anything, seeing anything, it's still sketchy."

"You need some help? Last known address, his associates, enemies. Someone must have wanted him in that alley for some reason. Drugs, money laundering, in over his head? All that at the touch of your fingertips."

Joss smiled and sighed. Her gaze focused on him square, as if she was really just noticing him for the first time.

"John, I thought I told you and your friend that you should let the police handle police mattters," she said. "Thanks, but I got this one. It may take some time to get to the bottom of it all, but-"

"Too late," John said interrupting her. "Finch had some time on his hands. This is what we've been able to gather so far. From the looks of things, this guy's got enough of a checkered past he'd put the devil to shame.

She glanced over the printed file information he handed to her. It was meaty, she had to admit, and far more extensive than she would have been able to get on her own in such a short amount of time.

"Where did you get this, John?"

"Sources, Detective. Sources."

"Uh huh. Well, your 'sources' need to remember how to stay out of trouble. Murder doesn't discriminate. And the feds still aren't done with The Man in the Suit."

"You want the info or not, Carter?" he scoffed, a glint of humor in his eye.

After a pause and a glance about the Lyric to make sure they hadn't been followed, Joss grabbed up the file and placed it on her seat, out of sight.

"I better not regret this, John."

"I am but the messenger, Joss. I see a need, I try to fulfill it somehow. Oh, by the way," he said, then rustling around in his coat pocket, "I got something for you after my visit this afternoon."

"What's this?" she asked, eying him skeptically.

"This," he said, "is a little peace offering. And a little bright spot from 7th Avenue in light of the gruesome discovery."

It was a tiny box of chocolates from _La Danser_ _Chocolatier_ , which had a location on the same block where Felsom's body was discovered. It turns out that John had done a little legwork on Joss' investigation in the general vicinity, some of which could be found in the file he gave her. In return for having been such a 'pleasant and reassuring officer of the law', he had been gifted with the small box of assorted treasures, each one a different kind.

"I figure these more belong to you than me, Joss," he said softly. "Go on. Have one. Have three, if you like."

"Ah, I see. So the Man in the Suit's got a little sweet tooth. _La Danser_ , very nice. I can only afford these on overtime pay," she grinned.

"I do indeed. And it's one with a rather expensive taste, true. When it comes to chocolate, anyway."

"Yes. Well, I wouldn't dream of having one unless you have one with me."

Wordlessly, John pulled open the top of the box to expose a half-dozen of the most delectable chocolates. Joss was a fan, and her eyes grew bigger at the sight of the one she wanted: the dark chocolate crème brulee with a caramel swirl.

"After you, Detective," John said softly.

Joss allowed herself to giggle like a schoolgirl on Christmas before reaching into the box for the crème brulee nugget.

"Oh, my, this looks good. You know, I really shouldn't. My girly figure-"

"-is in no danger, trust me. Go on. You deserve a little treat, Joss."

Was that his way of giving her a backhanded compliment? She wouldn't have considered the often droll vigilante capable of such. But even if he wasn't exactly a lothario, the flutter in her belly was real enough—and duly noted.

"I do, don't I?" she agreed, before putting the sweet to her full lips and taking a tiny bite. She would savor this. No need to pop the whole thing in her mouth.

"Mmmm," she purred. "Oh...oh, that's so good. Mmm hmm..."

Suddenly, the little booth took on a heated air that it hadn't had in those minutes before chocolate was a factor in their conversation. John, who watched her every move with the chocolate, was now transfixed by the interplay between the sweet and her mouth. She continued to devour it, half biting, half sucking on the rich dark chocolate and crème mixture, the traces of chocolate coloring her full, nude-glossed lips in the places where she'd forgotten to be self-conscious.

He tried not to let on the fact that she was having such an effect on him, his eyes momentarily darting away from her mouth to the window to the back of her seat, to the patrons now filling the diner's space from evening shows and late nights ar work.

Soon, the chocolate was but a memory, as Joss' tongue now joined in the campaign to mesmerize, darting in and out to catch the traces of sweetness from the corners of her lips.

"That looked...enjoyable, Detective," he said, almost purring, his green eyes hooded, the smirk on full force. "Please, go on. Have another one, Joss."

Joss looked down at the box. More nuggets awaited. They were for her. John said so. She would have another.

"Don't mind if I do, John. Aren't you having one, too? Come on, John. I can't all these rich chocolates by myself."

"Maybe later. Go on."

The second sweet found its way to her lips, and she was even more deliberate with this one than the last. She ate the chocolate as if she had discovered heaven itself, her lips moving with the grace of a dancer, her cheeks hollowing to suck out the sweet taste of the raspberry mousse mixture. The muscles in her throat contracted, allowing the stickiness to find its way into her body. She flicked and rotated her tongue over it so thoroughly that John, to his surprise, found himself actually envying a piece of candy.

He cleared his throat, and while he'd tried to avert his gaze, there was no such action this time. He couldn't even if he'd tried. Instead, he made a move.

"Hang on there, Joss. There's a little bit...well, hmmm...let's see..."

His fingers gently reached out to her face to gently cup her jaw, while softly running the pad of his thumb across her chin, then her bottom lip where a little of the dark chocolate had remained.

The touch was electric, sending currents of feeling across the skin of both their bodies. He was so gentle, dwelling just enough to get far more of a feel than he should have. But she made no move to stop him.

She couldn't if she tried. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, the butterflies from the earlier comment now slamming harder in her belly.

"Umm..." she uttered. It was all she could say.

John withdrew his fingers from her face and mouth. There was enough chocolate there. Just enough to make a difference.

He slipped the tip of his covered thumb in his mouth. His jaw muscles allowed his tongue to savor her taste mixed in with the sweetness of the crème brulee. It was enough. It was more than enough.

It was far sweeter than anything in that box on its own.

"John..."

"You were right, Joss. Absolutely delicious."

"John, I..."

Eyes, lips, tongues, tastes. Feelings covered by work and danger and rules were allowing themselves life.

The flipside of heady passion, though, for Joss, was terror. She wiped her mouth and shook her head as if she'd been caught at something. Caught at something she shouldn't be doing.

"I think that's enough for me," she said with a slight bolt of movement. "I, uh, I have to...umm...the case...lots of work on my desk. I'll see you later, John. Thanks for the chocolate."

"That's okay, Joss. Anytime. And good luck. I'll check in with you in a few days."

"Yeah. Do that."

He watched her fly out of the diner, her sensible pumps not carrying her away from him nearly fast enough. On the table was her cold coffee, an unpaid bill for it—and the leftover chocolates. Four out of six. He sighed and cupped his chin, his gaze once again taken by the city lights and the path she'd taken to run. To run from him. She'd never once run from him. She was the one to run to him.

"A few days," he said. "In a few days."

 **A/N: Chocolate. A most erotic food. I wonder what he'll have for her in those few days. Hope you enjoyed this 3** **rd** **shot. More, more, more!**


	4. Solace

**A/N: The harbor in the tempest. Enjoy.**

 **Shot No 4: Solace**

The warm water shot out of the taps steady and sure, its steam soon enveloping the bathroom in a haze that lightly coated the mirror and left droplets on the blue tiles of the bathroom. Joss waited a few minutes to make sure it was just so before turning the jet on the shower. Few things worse than a shower where the water wasn't right.

Taking a deep breath, she went through the motions of disrobing and pinning her hair before slipping a slender foot into the side of the porcelain tub and pulling the curtain back, careful not to let the water splatter too much on the rug.

She hadn't been in the steaming space long before she felt a familiar presence enter the bathroom, then the shower, to wordlessly slide up behind her like a wisp of a feather, his nudity and embrace a forgone conclusion. She smiled in her knowledge of him—until she turned around and saw his face.

"John? Hey. Are you okay? How did it go tonight?"

She actually hadn't needed to ask that. She could see how it went. He was haggard, drawn. His hair was loose about his forehead. Battered and bruised was he, the latter most apparent on the right side of his face, right at the cheekbone, as well as his right shoulder, where a finely visible black and blue mark marred the skin there. His ribs also showed the signs. The battle had indeed been brutal.

"Yogorov must be paying his boys to take fighting lessons. Or he's getting newer recruits with better instincts. It was a tough one tonight. Real tough. Could have used your help," he joked.

"What happened?" she asked.

"He's dead. That's what's most important. He's dead and I'm not." The joke was no longer.

"Who, John? Yogorov?"

"No. Not Yogorov."

"John, what happened?" she reiterated, a touch of worry in her voice.

"Babe, I'm tired," he replied softly over the spatter of the water, his chest rising in resignation. "Not right now, okay? I just want to get clean." He shook his head with those words, and momentarily looked past her, until his eyes, slowly, almost dazedly, found hers again.

She nodded her head, the steam forming droplets on her lashes, the water rivulets down her back. She'd pick Szymansky's brain about it all, anyway, once she was back at the precinct.

"Well, if you don't want to talk about it, that's all right, John. How can I help now?"

"The loofah," he said, arching his gaze towards the wall before returning it, full tilt, towards her.

She found what he'd asked for on the little shelf next to the shower head.

"Here. Turn around, John."

Immersing it in the spray before adding bodywash, she took the loofah to his back first, rotating and gently scrubbing its expanse over and over, until she moved to his shoulders and neck. From there she found his arm pits, chest and belly, the wounds he received painful yet soothed by her attentions. John leaned his head back, eyes closed in relief, a silent gasp escaping his lips as her tiny fingers found his member and caressed it carefully, lovingly, the rigidity unmistakable despite the other aches in his body. The water pelted his face and shot darts of moisture through his hair.

After fully rinsing his body of the soap, she reached over to the shelf again and found his shampoo and while lifting well above her own height, lathered it into his hair, her finger massage of his scalp nothing short of a tiny bit of bliss on earth.

He hung his head low as she continued, the soap running down his neck and face and into the drain. She could see the pores in his skin, the long sooty lashes, the crook of his nose, the hairline and straightness of his salt-and-pepper hair.

"Ahh, baby," he whispered aloud, a heavy sigh cutting through the spray, "thank you."

"For what?" she asked.

"For you," he replied. "Just for you."

Catching her lips in a light yet empassioned kiss, John pulled her into his arms, his hands now exploring their way across her body. He tucked his head into the crook of her neck, his muffled yet audible breathing in that same space was heavy, weighty in her ears. The water streaked and cascaded around them both then, its cathartic balm remaining until the hot water ran out. The warmth of their bed awaited.

 **A/N: A postscript of sorts:**

 _ **John fell into bed, his hair still damp, the bruises on his ribs now screaming to the touch. He would allow Joss to put muscle rub there beforehand, but anything else was out of the question. No questions. No answers. She had tried again to better understand what Yogorov's man had meant for John out there, but he merely smiled, stroked her also dampened hair, and kissed her soundly before falling into a heavy, welcome slumber on his back.**_

 _ **She watched him sleep once the sandman took hold of him, and while another woman might think he was shutting her out, Joss didn't. Having been in her line of work, having been there herself, she understood his need to process, to reassess what had happened that night, whatever the minute details were. She didn't rest for a long while after going to bed. Instead, she watched him, watched the interplay of emotions on his face in his unconsciousness, listened to him breathe and snore, and heard the mumbles symbolic of real-world dramas not yet finished.**_

 ** _Tomorrow would begin it all anew. Until then, she would keep vigil. She would protect him. Yes, she would._ **

**Thanks for reading, and I'm glad everyone has enjoyed so far. Best!**


	5. Painting Day

**A/N: I sort of took a little bit of inspiration from the film _Something New._ Enjoy!**

 **Shot No 5: Painting Day**

"Well, John. You asked for it. Don't say I didn't warn you," Joss Carter said with raised eyebrows as she and John Reese surveyed her near-wreck of a new home. All the repair work, electrical, and plumbing had been done, which had allowed her to, thankfully, let herself and her son live there while the finishing touches were being handled. But the walls. Oh, the walls. They needed some work and bad. All the holes were patched and fortified. All that was left was the monumental paint job, wherein the drab grey and dingy brown would be erased and, in their place would come surfaces of practical grandeur. Seven rooms, a number of closets. The closets she could handle. The ceiling work she'd let professionals handle.

But the bathroom and living room were huge tasks. And Joss, to save money, was planning on doing it with the help of her mom only, and Taylor when he could be bothered after school.

However, John wouldn't hear of it. He'd actually taken a few days off vigilante work to help her. And there he was, bright and early, his trademark suit traded in for faded, well-fitting jeans, a lumberjack shirt of blue and black stripes, tan workboots, gloves, and a painter's cap to match her own.

Upon first sight of him, she swallowed hard and allowed herself to take him in. Allowed herself to notice—no, admit—just what a stunning man he actually was. That kind of thing could get lost in their daily battle to keep the streets of New York safe from bad guys. But it hadn't. And even in grubby work clothes, John Reese was fine. Really fine.

 _Joss Carter, you are here, in your house, to work. So is he. Cut it out._

"I did, Carter. So, which room are we working on today? Ready to go."

"You do a lot of house painting before, John?" she stammered, bringing her thoughts back to the here and now.

"Don't worry, Carter," he grinned, mistaking her stammer for apprehension of his skills. "I painted houses, exteriors really, during my summers in high school, and then later on as well. Along with a bit of construction work," he said. "The best job a sixteen-year-old kid could ever have. Good money, practical skills, working with my hands. I have...good memories of that experience."

She studied him for a second, nodding her head. It was nice to hear about his past for a change. Most of what she knew of John's life before New York came from the horror he saw in the military. Even something as seemingly mundane as that was a golden kernel she treasured.

"Okay. Sounds good to me. You're actually doing my mom a favor. She and my dad were champs at house painting, but she really isn't as spry as she used to be. Though she was certainly gonna give it her all for Taylor and me."

"Well, I'm glad to help, Joss. So where do we start?"

"I was going to do the bathroom, upstairs. Floor's already covered, trim in place, paint cans and trays are there. Three good coats?"

"Great," John said. "Let's do it."

##

After two hours, the upstairs bathroom was completed, the cerulean blue of the walls giving it a life it hadn't had in years. Joss placed a few heavy-duty fans in the entry way to help with drying, while John washed up in the sink. He indeed knew his way around a painting job, his limber body and long arms able to reach corners with the rollers that she didn't even know were there. And when they were done, he wiped down whatever needed cleaning, while clearing the painting materials away.

For his trouble, Joss offered to fix lunch. Cold cuts, cheese, sandwich rolls, chips, and veggies, they sat in the spartan kitchen and began to eat. There was a small lemon pound cake for dessert. The sigh she let go of in between bites was one of accomplishment. She was now on point to tackle the living room.

"Sorry that all we have are paper plates. The dishes are still packed away at the brownstone."

John smiled. "No problem. I've eaten off worse surfaces, trust me. Once we've eaten, we take on the living room."

"You don't think it's too much to handle all at once?" she asked, apprehensively.

"No, not really," he said with a slight twinkle in his green eyes. "We're fueling up here, taking a break, so a few more hours shouldn't be a problem. Not for me, anyway."

"Well, that's good news," she said. "Because I'd like to get this place looking more like a home as soon as possible."

"A home is where you lay your head, Joss," he replied. "Nothing fancy necessary," he said, while tilting the paper plate to reach his chips.

"You sound as if you know that for a fact, John."

"See enough warzones, enough countries, a new assignment every few weeks and you can sleep anywhere."

Joss ran a hair through her hair and shook her head. "Doesn't sound like much of a home, John. Sleeping isn't living."

"Well," he said with a suddenly wistful look past her, "I wouldn't know about that."

"No," she said, quietly. "No, I guess you wouldn't. But that could change, you know."

John cocked an eyebrow and titlted his head just slightly enough to get a fuller view of her. "Oh, could it now?"

"Well, sure," Joss replied. "Never too late to find a home, John. So long as you're alive, at least. Gotta have faith, is all."

"Faith," he repeated. "Maybe. Faith, and someone to make that home with, share it with? That's never been something I was ever very good at."

"You've tried it before?"

"Yes. For about six months. Before I was deployed to Iraq on my first tour. There was a woman. We were in love. I guess we were in love. She had a house, small place just outside of Helena, Montana. I moved in with her."

"Yeah? What happened?" Joss asked, reaching over to refill her glass of lemonade.

John put his sandwich down on the plate after taking a bite and chewing reflectively. "Well, it was great at first. Comfortable and cozy, a routine that worked well enough. She was a bartender at night while I painted houses and worked construction during the day. But then-"

"But then? Go on."

"But then, I found I wasn't cut out for the domestic life. I had an energy within me that wasn't being harnessed in that life in Montana. And so, I began to stay away. Sometimes days on end. I'd still go to work because that was steady, but I'd just end up staying over at a buddy's place or finding a roadside motel. We'd fight about it, then we split up. I joined the Army about three months later. Needing some direction, I guess. I found that in the military. And that was the rest of my life until the Towers fell. And Jessica. And I left her, too." When he'd finished, he took a sip of his own lemondade.

"Six months, huh?" Joss quipped. Her eyes were downcast, as if she weren't quite sure what to say in the face of his reveal.

"Mmm hmm," he said quietly. "Not a whole lot of time to get cozy. But, as I get older," he said, while giving the living room the once-over, "I can more and more see the appeal." His gaze, containing a hint of serenity she was almost afraid to ponder the reason for, landed back on her full square. She decided not to. The conversation was good just as it was. Nothing else was needed.

"Well, good," Joss said, tapping the small table in affirmation. "There's hope for you yet, John Reese."

"Glad somebody thinks so. Hey, we better get a move on if we're going to have any chance of getting this living room done with the daylight still on our side. What color scheme this time?"

She noted the abrupt change of subject. But the job did need to get done. "Burnt orange. Cans are already open."

##

"Ugh, so much the smell of paint fumes. Always hated that smell," Joss said when they were finally through with the living room walls. "But we're done. Finally!"

John laughed. "There are still the closets to consider, Joss. And yours andTaylor's rooms. When are you painting those?"

"Oh, John, it's okay. The big jobs here today were the living room and the bathroom. Thank you for all your help."

"We're not done yet, Carter."

"John...you have a job to do out there, don't you? I don't want to be the reason you aren't doing that job. Even if you have been an amazing help to me here."

"If you can take a week off, so can I. Shaw is handling the numbers just now. There is nowhere else I'd rather be. And with no one else. Just like this."

She stopped protesting to side eye him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Joss. If I weren't, I wouldn't have offered."

"Can I ask you a question, John?"

"That's your job, Detective," he smirked.

"Why? Why are you helping me?"

John rolled his eyes and leaned his wrist against the pass through of the living room, above their heads. All the while studying her face, he replied, "maybe because this helps me too, Joss."

"Painting at my house?" she scoffed. "How?"

"It's...a break, Joss. I'm not the surf and sand type. I need to keep busy, even when I need a respite from...my job."

"Oh, I see."

"Mmm hmm. So there you have it."

"And was the break satisfactory, John?"

He inhaled slowly, a near-dreamy smirk on his face. "I'd say so, Joss. Like I said, I'm glad to help."

"You are something else, John Reese." Joss replied.

"So I've been told, Detective Carter. So I've been told."

##

"You have everything, right, John?"

"Yep. Didn't bring much but myself and my car keys, anyway. But if I have, I know where you live."

"Well, yeah, of course. I mean, not like you'd need an excuse to come by or anything. Especially now," she stammered again, for the second time.

"Now, Joss?" he asked, his back turned to her as he walked towards the front door.

"Yes. You helped me paint my walls. I'd say that gives you an open invitation."

He turned as he squeezed the door jamb. "I just might take you up on that, Detective."

"I hope you will, John. Oh! I almost forgot. Here." From behind her back she presented him with a brown paper sack.

"Your lemon pound cake. Didn't want you to miss dessert."

John took the bag and slowly lifted his gaze, as if this were the first Christmas gift he'd ever gotten, the first good thing he'd ever gotten.

"Thank you, Joss."

"You're welcome. Good night, John."

He didn't respond. Instead, he walked out of the open door into the early evening sunset, the clouds split apart by the waning rays.

Before she could close the door behind him, he abruptly turned around and swooped her into his arms, his kiss gentle but definite, his embrace gentle, but all-encompassing. Joss suddenly felt her body lift off the floor.

When he came up for air, they both realized the bag of cake had fallen on the ground.

"John...your...your cake," she managed to blurt out, his lips having left an undeniable imprint on her own.

"Right. Thank you again, Joss. Good night."

She watched him go, down the steps, his long lean body in his messy painters clothes, as the rays in the clouds spread and expanded over the city. She stood watching, long after the Town Car pulled away, and merged into the traffic and out of her view.

 **A/N: Painting jobs lead to invites for home cooked meals lead to all kinds of other things. Could Joss be the one to break his flighty streak with women? I wonder.**

 **Thanks for the read, and I hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Long Weekend

**Careese Shots No 6: Long Weekend**

 **A/N: In honor of the holiday that is, here in the States. Blessings to all of you who commemorate Memorial Day—and have fun!**

"Room 813, sir. Here are key cards for you and the lady. We have complimentary champagne in your room, and there is also a pool and steam room on the lower level with towels and robes at your convenience. We trust you will have a fine stay here with us at the Stowe Village Inn. Happy holiday weekend."

"Yes, thank you." John said to the desk attendant after leaving his credit card and billing details, and taking the keys. Turning to the lady, he handed her a key card with a touch of nervousness and joy in his eyes.

The lady was Detective Jocelyn Carter. And they were at the Stowe Village Inn for both a long-needed long weekend—and to take their blossomed friendship to the next level.

They had decided on Memorial Day weekend, as Taylor was due to be at his dad's house barbecue and the two of them had managed to remind their bosses of just how much overtime they were owed for all the work in keeping New York City on its toes. Finally, after so many close calls and harrowing situations, the two crime fighters realized—or rather decided to admit—that they had an attraction for one another, and after a few truncated dates here and there, simply decided that they needed to get away, somewhere far away from New York, for a chance at real quiet—real private—time together. Stowe, Vermont, nestled in the green hills of northern New England, was the solution.

The pair had taken the scenic route from New York City, slightly westward, passing through upstate New York before turning east again into Vermont. The car ride alone was soothing to Joss. She got to be the passenger this time as John expertly handled the wheel of their rented SUV, luggage firmly packed, gas tank fully fueled. In the warm weather, each ditched their suits as well, with Joss sporting butter-soft faded jeans and a blue tank top and sandals, her hair loose and billowy, her skin creamy smooth, while John sported a black short-sleeved button down with jeans and loafers. He made for a dashing vigilante in his aviator shades too.

On the way, they'd passed military cemeteries, and as it was Memorial Day, decided to stop at a few of them to pay their respects to their fellow soldiers. Whether lost nearly three centuries before in the Revolutionary War, or a century and a half ago at Union battle fields, all the way through to today's fallen lost to the War on Terror, they stood in silence and salute, Joss even laying a flag or two she had picked up a souvenir shop at some sites.

At last, they'd made it to the Stowe Village Inn. Though the lot was packed with other holiday travellers, John had gotten Finch to pull the needed strings to get him and Joss the room they wanted. It definitely paid to have a billionaire tech genius in one's corner.

"Here you are, Joss," John said, upon handing her the key. It wasn't to be "Carter" anymore, that aloof address he provided her as they worked together, a throwback to their days in the military. Nor was it to be "Detective," the moniker he gave her to annoy her more than anything else. They had passed that point some time ago. She was, for all intents and purposes, his girlfriend now. He thought it proper to use her name.

"Thanks, John. Well, here we go."

"After you, Joss," he said behind her, while effortlessly taking on the job of both sets of luggage to the elevator. Room 813 awaited.

##

Indeed, there was a complimentary bottle of champagne waiting for them in the small yet sturdy room they were to share. It wasn't fancy by a mile, but it didn't have to be. It was clean and served their needs perfectly. A coffee and tea maker rested on the desk. The shower was ample enough, there were plenty of towels—and the bed was certainly big enough for the two of them.

"Well, here we are," John said once the bags were finally parked to the side of the closet.

"Yes. Here we are," Joss repeated. For a moment, they stood across from one another, neither one moving, save for John putting his hands on his hips in a kind of silent anticipation. His old buddies in the Army would laugh if they could see him then. John Gray, the bad boy solider who had had the most runs into combat missions, the most kills, was somehow now more nervous in front of this beautiful lady cop than he had ever been with them out in the field. If only they could see him. They wouldn't believe it.

"You want to watch a film, John? I think I saw that there are like 80 channels on that thing..." she trailed off as she watched his eyes watch her, watched the rise and fall of his chest, could hear him breathe.

"No. Not really," he said thickly, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing up and down.

"Nah. Me neither," she replied.

Finally, he moved. In two steps he was at her, was on her. Pulling her into his arms, he picked her up by her ass and slammed his mouth into hers for a kiss that the devil himself would blush at. Not to be outdone, Joss wrapped her arms around his neck, then behind his back, one of her sandals slipping off her foot as he caressed her body and wrestled her to that big bed in the middle of the room. They moaned; they writhed and panted; they tore at one another's clothes—until the high Vermont sky turned from light to dark, and well after that, too.

##

"I like this room. What do you think, Joss? You like this room?"

"Oh, definitely. Nothing around here but antique shops and trees and sticks and more trees and sticks. And no perps. Best thing about it."

"Oh, really?" John asked, feigning hurt.

"Well, the second best thing," she said, giggling before kissing him. They were now snuggled in each other's arms, the champagne uncorked, glasses poured.

"Let's drink a toast, Joss. To...what?"

"Hmm...to getting to know each other, in ways we didn't before."

"Oh, I'd say we had that covered tonight, babe. Mmm hmmm..."

She slapped his arm playfully. "I don't just mean that! I mean, you know..."

"What? You mean like when I lost my first tooth and what my favorite color is and what my real name is? That kind of thing?"

"That's important, isn't it? I mean, I'd tell you."

"I already know all there is to know about you, Joss."

"Oh do you, now?"

"Yes. All I need to know, anyway. And you do about me, too."

"You could tell me how you and Finch get your information for these cases we work on."

"I could. But then, I'd have to kill you. And I think I enjoy having sex with you too much for that."

"Ha! Well, you sure could try, Mr. Reese! Just hope you had your Wheaties beforehand. You'd need 'em!"

"You know I love a challenge, Joss."

She slapped at him again. At that point, the glasses of champagne fell on the carpet as they laughed and tussled one another, the sounds of the bed bouncing and their laughter filling the room.

The next day, they'd take a trip to Lake Champlain for pictures, bugs, and more of each other. Much more.

 **A/N: Had to throw in the trips to the soldiers' graves. We can forget that in our cookouts and beach combing. Thanks all, and happy weekend!**


	7. What If?

**Shot No 7: What If?**

 **A/N: A slight nod to "Terra Incognita," only Joss isn't dead. Enjoy.**

John cased the outside perimeter of Joss' home at least three times before he deemed everything in order. Whoever it was the Machine had sounded the alarm against was now gone. He was under no delusions that they wouldn't be back though. And when they were, he'd be ready for it.

As a precautionary measure, however, he decided to pick his way through the backdoor entrance, which lead to her rather small yet cozy kitchen. The irony of what he was doing wasn't lost on him, and he grinned to himself that, had she been there to catch him, it wouldn't have been lost on her, either. But he was nothing if not thorough, so he wouldn't leave that part to chance.

Gun in hand, he closed the door quietly behind him upon full entry. He glanced around, and then, ahead and noticed her pantry, an open shelf affair, covered in tastefully laid wallpaper and stocked with the foodstuffs expected of a cop with a half grown son in the house. What struck him most was the number of cereal boxes shoved at the top level. There were six at his eye's count, each one a different brand. He smiled again. The life of a cop. Cereal for dinner at 2 am, half-empty boxes indicative of meals by the seat of one's pants.

Meals not planned. Guarantees of coming home each night never to be. Just eat from one box until it's forgotten and then buy another one on the way home after a double shift at the all-night bodega. He wondered how long it had been since that habit had taken hold in their lives.

Silently passing through the small foyer to the living room, John tilted his head back and forth to gain an expansive view of the area. Nothing out of place, no signs of forced entry or tampering. Her well-organized living room was as it had been.

"Well, Joss. Looks like you may have been right for once about me being paranoid. Then again, maybe not," he murmured aloud.

After a few more minutes, and a cursory sweep upstairs, he was just about to go out the way he'd come in when something stopped him. From a short distance, her mantelpiece, tastefully laid with framed certificates, fake fruit, and candle holders, also sported a mid-sized black-framed photo, caught his eye. A split second war of his conscience when it came to taking liberties was begun and lost on the side of restraint, and he slowly walked over to pick up the frame.

Inside rested the photo. It was of a much younger Joss Carter, sitting on the carpet, holding her infant son, Taylor. Actually, from what John guessed, he would have been a little older than an infant, a toddler, perhaps, already running, already climbing, and already finding ways to grow up as fast as he could. And he could imagine Taylor's mother, so bright eyed and fresh in the picture, trying desperately to find ways of keeping that from happening.

John's smile back at the pair in the picture was faint, the reaction to the infectious joy of the image showing up more in his eyes than in his grin. Taylor was as cute as button. John could feel himself tugged in ways he hadn't experienced before as he looked at the little boy with the big brown eyes in his Superman PJs, safe in his mother's arms.

As for the Detective, the woman who had initially been a thorn in his side during his underground days in the city, the sight of her mothering warmed him. He knew of her bond with Taylor, of course, and he knew well that the boy was a great kid because of her example. But he'd never seen her with him in this way. He'd never witnessed her parenting outside the confines of her other identity as Detective Carter. She hadn't been a cop all these years, certainly not when he was a little guy. What had it been like for them, then? Had they had everything they'd needed? Where was his father? What had she been like?

At that last one, he could certainly guess. She would have been a hands-on mother, making sure he had the best of her. She would've done anything for her baby, been there to nurse him from her breasts, to rock him gently to sleep on the wings of a lullaby, to soothe his fears. He suddenly felt a longing in his heart, a wish that he could have been there, in her life, to have seen all that for himself. To have been a part of it, somehow. But of course, that was not to be. It couldn't have been. John's life was a different one to Joss'. It certainly would have been then. Fate had had different plans, different effects. There was no need to be lulled by the heartbreaking sweetness of 'what-ifs.' And yet, he still felt that ache in his heart.

What if?

After a moment, his earpiece sounded. He put the picture back on the mantelpiece.

"Yeah, Finch?"

"How is everything at Detective Carter's place, Mr. Reese?" Harold's voice sounded over the piece.

"All clear, Finch. Looks like whoever might have been hanging around a homicide cop's house looking for trouble wasn't brave enough to stay after all."

"Well, that's good to hear, for now. But we both know Detective Carter still has a few enemies in the ranks. We can't be too careful, Mr. Reese."

"Acknowledged, Finch. I'll be back later. I don't think my hunch was off, but I'll give it some more time."

"Good idea, Mr. Reese."

John disconnected. He sighed in the quiet space of the living room, took one more look around his immediate environment, and then indeed went out the way he'd come.

 **A/N: I've always loved the pic they used in "Terra" of Taraji and her son for Carter and Taylor, as well as John's reaction to it, so I thought I'd go there. It seemed to me that in that scene, there could have been a kind of 'what-if' scenario, or something where John might have wondered what it would have been like to have known her then. Ah, well. I hope you dug this 7** **th** **shot. More to come. Thanks.**


	8. Donnelly Makes A Move

**A/N: Our stalwart Agent Donnelly comes in for an appearance in this shot.**

 **I own no rights to POI or its characters.**

 **Shot No 8: Donnelly Makes A Move**

"Good work, Carter. We may finally have our Man in the Suit right where we want him," Agent Donnelly complimented Joss as they walked down the long and foreboding halls of Riker's Island Prison. Joss, careful not to give too much away, nodded and smirked at his by-the-book though no less sincere words of praise for her efforts on behalf of the FBI Fugitive Task Force. Indeed, thanks to her top skills in interrogation, honed by two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, they had been able to narrow their search down to three likely suspects out of dozens—one of those being a certain John Warren.

"Well, we haven't gotten our man yet, Agent Donnelly. There's still miles of questioning to get through before that."

He gaze met hers as they walked, and if Joss wasn't mistaken, she could see the shadows of an actual smile on his face.

"No worries, Carter. With your expertise and early legwork on this case, we've come much farther than I could have ever hoped we would. Won't be long now before one of them cracks. And then, we've got him. We've got the Man in the Suit."

"Hmmph," was the only sound Joss made in response. Some days she wished she wasn't so damned good at her job.

##

John sat stoically in his cell, though his mind was abuzz with escape plans hatched and abandoned, some as quickly as they came to him, others only after an endgame scenario proved they wouldn't work. Eventually, his Special Forces mind might come up with something that would buy him a few days out, perhaps a few weeks even—but John knew well that for him to beat this and bury it, he'd need outside help.

He'd need Finch.

He'd need Joss.

Joss. Their session in the interrogation room had been fraught with tensions of varying degrees. While he knew just how serious the jeopardy was, he also couldn't help but remind himself just how much of a pull she had on him, ruse or not. Subtle flirting, teasing, soft grins under the most pressing questions were all his signals to her—and whoever the damned fed was watching—that with her in the room, nothing thrown at him could rattle him enough to lose his cool and give himself away. Couple that with the fact that he was being questioned by his accomplice, and that Finch was on the other end at all times helping to keep the story straight, and yes, he thought that to be a good enough time to let his feet up, so to speak, and lighten the mood in places.

Thinking back on it, it was something of a foolish move, as he could have gotten Joss to give herself away—but at the time, he hadn't considered that at the time. It had just been too good to have the one-on-one, to let her in on some of the details of his life before he'd met her, even if the truth had been stretched a bit. In fact, it had been, in many ways, the perfect lunch date conversation, minus the gory details of life and death in Tikrit.

Lunch convo? Dates? With Joss? Yes. Sure. Why the hell not? Because he was a man wanted in four countries and about seven states, and because he was locked up in an orange jumpsuit, his past finally having caught up with him? Because she was a cop who lived by a code, and he was everything that code stood against?

He closed his eyes as he faced the heavy metal bars of his cell. Where was she? There was supposed to be a prisoner transport taking place shortly, as the fed put in charge of this investigation wanted less intrusion and interference from local prison officials. Rikers had served its purpose; federal holding pens were now in his immediate future. She was to be a part of that send off crew. He knew they'd have another session. But he still didn't want to leave without seeing her first.

After several minutes, John heard the prison guard detail come through to where he and the other suspects were being held. Within the party, he saw Joss in the same no-nonsense blue suit she'd been waering earlier in the day when they'd had a session. Still the same ponytail hairstyle, the same subdued makeup, the same black leather-strapped pumps. But her expression was one he hadn't seen before. It was somehow concerned, worried. Had something happened to throw a wrench in the plan of getting him out at some point soon? And why was Donnelly there, looking as if he'd just struck gold?

"Gentlemen, your train has arrived," he said, the stalwart confidence in his duties as a federal agent understandable to John, but no less annoying. "As you have been made aware, you are all being transferred from this prison block to one under federal jurisdiction. I trust that the accomodations will be suitable until such time as we ascertain who our Man in the Suit is." He turned to the guards. "Guards, remove these prisoners from their cells and get them into the buses."

The guards did as they were instructed, one-by-one unlocking cells and cuffing prisoners. Leg irons remained throughout. Joss looked down at her shoes, while Donnelly, oblivious to what was just under his nose, thought it appropriate to smile at her. She caught it just in time. Just in time before her melancholy at John's precarious situation could be discovered. Her own smile was slight—but to John, who watched her closely before the guards got to him, it dazzled all the same.

As she walked slowly down the corridor of prisoners with Donnelly, and closer to John, he suddenly became more animated, more talkative. Once they were within perfect earshot of John's cell, he soon understood.

"We're close, Carter, just as I said before. I can feel it. We're close to catching him, once and for all. Any day, soon, he'll be ours."

"You're that confident, huh?" Joss asked quietly with a slight smirk.

"I am definitely that confident. I have faith in you. After all, it was your work that got us this far. The Man in the Suit would have never been on our radar, as one for us to nab, had it not been for your diligence as an officer of the law. You bet I'm confident. We'll get him. One less danger to the public on our streets."

"Yeah. Okay, Agent Donnelly," she sighed, and looked over some of the other men, doing her best not to look in John's direction. "How much longer for the transport detail to be done?"

"Just a few more. We need to load up Williams, Moroney, and Warren, here."

"Right. Well, okay. Let's uh, let's get this over with, and get our man."

And then, the world under John's feet shook, just a little. Just enough for him to feel it, keenly, sharply. Just enough for him to feel it.

"So, Carter, what can I do to convince you to have dinner with me?" Donnelly asked, rubbing his hands in an uncharacteriscally upbeat fashion.

Momentarily taken aback by his boldness, she caught herself and retained her cool. "Agent Donnelly, I don't make a habit of dating my colleagues. Really, I'm flattered. But...I have to say no."

"It's only dinner, Carter. Not a proposal of marriage. Come on, I owe you. You've worked tremendously hard on this case, and you deserve it. My treat. I hear Don Leon is a great place in the city. What do you say?"

Both John and Donnelly fixed their eyes upon Joss' face, each man awaiting the answer, the promise of her attention—or the rejection of his.

"Agent Donnelly, I can't-"

"One dinner, Carter. That's it. We don't even have to talk. Especially about work. Just eat with me. Please. I'm not from this area, and it's been kind of a drag having takeout in the fed satelite office every night."

It was then that she allowed herself to look at John. He in turn had his eyes fixed on the floor, the slight clink of his leg irons the only sound coming from him.

Taking a deep breath, she regarded Donnelly with yet another feignt smile. "I would have to call my mom to keep an eye on my son tonight, but...I guess it'd be all right. What time?"

"How about 8?"

"8 o'clock. Yes, sure. That sounds...fine."

"Great!" he exclaimed, almost as if he'd hit the lottery. "I'll have my assistant make the reservation. Thanks, Carter."

"Jocelyn. Please. Call me Jocelyn."

"Okay, Jocelyn. You can call me Nick.:

"Nick. Great," she said, nodding. "Dinner at 8. Sounds...fine."

As the guard reached John's cell and unlocked the door, it was then that he treated Joss to a gaze that would have been worthy of Judgement Day. And in the seconds that his eyes fixed on hers, she felt that sting of judgement, to a place in her core so deep she hadn't known it was there until that moment. He peeled past her clothing, her skin and muscles, right through to her beating heart. His eyes said everything. There was an anger there, an anger that was both perplexing and understanable at the same time. And she had done that. Nevermind that her career and very freedom were on the line as much as his were at the moment. She had betrayed him. His countenance told her that he wouldn't soon forget it either.

Upon being escorted from his cell to join the detail, the clink of his leg irons sounded loudly in her ears, almost as if he were wearing more than one pair.

"Load them up, fellas," Donnelly commanded. The prisoners, including John, marched lockstep behind one another towards the corridor that would lead them to the bus that would take them to the federal pen for further questioning. His chin was held high, his visage stoic, though his eyes still burned smouldering fire. He caught her gaze when he could in the bustle of bustle of movement and barked orders.

He got just close enough for a split second. It was all that was required. The voice was low, almost inaudible.

"Be sure to enjoy your dinner, Detective. You've earned it, after all, haven't you?"

She turned slightly to return his view. "John, it's not-"

"Damn you, Joss," he whispered, cutting her off, his skin moist. "Damn you."

The detail continued towards its destination. John said no more, leaving Joss to stand there, her back to Donnelly, the beginnings of a tear making itself present in her eye.

 **A/N: Again, inspiration taken from the show. "Prisoner's Dilemma" or as I have seen it referred to online, "The Riker's Arc." Donnelly has no idea what he's really messing with, and with whom. Oh, dear!**

 **Have fun with this one, and more to come. For those asking about 'Missing Reese," know that there is a chap in progress (yes, after just about a year), it's just a matter of putting it all together. Thanks for your patience, and happy Father's Day!**


	9. Backseat Driver

**A/N: The family Careese returns for this one. Our favorite little guy has become quite the chatterbox.**

 **Shot No. 9: Backseat Driver**

John sat patiently behind the wheel of his Volvo SUV, a small blow of wind from his lips. New York traffic was doing what it did, which was to snarl up the streets from corner to corner. Cab horns beeped, middle fingers flipped, and pedestrians took their lives into their own hands. Luckily, the AC worked well in the hot June sun, or he might not have been so patient, especially with his two babies in the back.

He had become part of the melee, having had to run a few family errands, as well as stopping in to see Finch on a business matter before heading home to Brooklyn. It had been necessary for the kids to come too, as their mommy was making a few new moves on her own.

Joss had had a job interview for a new legal consulting position, with similar part-time flex hours as before, but for more money, and a trip into the city two days a week. She wouldn't teach classes at the law school, however, as she didn't want to take on too much outside of the kids. She would be glad to get back to work in some fashion, her sharp wits in the legal field as well as in homicide still very well respected. Because of that reputation, she was practically able to call her own shots when it came to hours—and pay grade. It was a nice position to be in.

So, along on this trip Aaron and his baby sister Cedillia, who napped contentedly through all the commotion outside her window in the back, took their rightful places in their car seats. While Cedillia snoozed, her big brother was wide awake—and full of things to say to his father.

Aaron had enjoyed his visit to see Uncle Harold, which he usually did, since Uncle Harold had so many gadgets and knobs and things for him to occupy himself with. He had also been keen on the trip to the park in between, the baby carousel just perfect for him to ride, as a big boy, on his own. Daddy was especially wonderful to have treated him to ice cream, while his baby sister had her bottle on Daddy's lap.

He had been content to sit still and enjoy his little ice cream cone as it melted and dripped in his hand, which of course was a blessing, since Aaron didn't always want to sit still for more than a minute or two at any given time. He was his father's boy, a rambunctious child, with a kind and sweet nature about him—and an emergent sense of justice. His little circle of toddler buddies already looked up to him, and in his way he looked out for them. His parents could do nothing but smile in pride.

But he loved vanilla ice cream. His father knew this well. He wasn't above using food as a babysitter.

John had certainly become quite the pro in juggling the well-being and care of two children under the age of three. He was well-accustomed to their moods, their cries, and the never-ending task of keeping his curious and energetic son out of trouble, trouble that could get him hurt—or someone else. The Army hadn't trained him for that. The CIA certainly hadn't. He had had to take on an entire skill set over the past three years—and he was an old dog learning new tricks. Nothing about mayhem and espionage in foreign climes could have prepared him for hands-on parenthood.

But he absolutely reveled in the joy of seeing his children's growth. Cedillia Corinne, or "CeeCee" as she was nicknamed, who was just shy of three months old, was a beautiful little brown baby girl, with a head full of dark curly hair and chubby little arms and legs and cheeks—her hair kept in ponytail bows—and big dark eyes, just like her mommy. She was already attempting to creep on her knees, and had a toothless smile that could melt diamonds. She also had her daddy wrapped quite well around her tiny fingers, and he never thought he could love another little lady as much as he did Joss until his daughter was born. It was no wonder that she was the spit image of her mother.

Taylor continued to excel at basketball and academics, his grades giving him a sure shot to any school he wanted to go to. He had his sights on two at this point—two that were well close, a fact his mother was most happy about. He even had a girlfriend, though he denied that they were more than just casual. His and his step-dad's pick up games continued, a thing between the two of them that maintained the close bond they'd formed over the past few years. He had also become the perfect built-in sitter, a godsend to his parents whenever they needed a date night or a movie night in the house, without the babies, even while juggling a full load of classes and other activities.

And Aaron was doing well at school too, still on the half-day schedule, three days a week. The amount of learning he was doing in that time astounded John, and any trepidation he had about his son going to toddler care had vanished after the very first day. He was grateful for Joan and Nancy, and all the staff who made his son feel so welcome and so much a part of their educational family. In September, he would make the transition over to the pre-preschool class, where he'd remain until a spot opened up in the three-year class, or after his third birthday, or successful potty training, whichever came first.

It was because of his growth that he was able to make that slog of a drive home not nearly so painful for his daddy. From his car seat, he sang himself a little song that he'd learned in his class group time before clapping a beat to it.

John took a look in his rearview. "That was such a good song! How we doin', son?"

"Wha' dahdee?" Aaron asked.

John tried again. "How are you?"

"I...I wan' go...I wan' go to da pahk, dahdee."

"We just came from the park, Aaron, honey. Time for you and CeeCee to get home now."

"Go hoom?" he asked, his eyes widening in the rearview mirror, as he considered his father's gentle words.

"Umm hmm," John answered. "We're gonna go home and have your dinner and see Mommy and Taylor and Bear. Sound good?"

"Yee-aah," he answered.

John chuckled. "I thought so. Do you know what you want for dinner, Aaron?"

"Noodoos," he replied, without missing a beat.

"Noodles, again? But son, you had noodles for dinner last night. How about hotdogs?"

"Noooo," Aaron protested. "Nooo hah-dahg. Noodoos. Dahdee, I wan' noodoos…"

In an effort to avoid a meltdown which could wake CeeCee, John gave in. Aaron loved spaghetti and meatballs, which he called "noodoos." But he also loved hot dogs. John sighed. Aaron was his sometimes finicky son.

"Okay, okay. Noodles again it is. Maybe I'll have the hotdog instead. We'll see if we have any noodles left. You ate a lot last night."

"Yoo eet too, Dahdee," Aaron replied pointing at him from the back.

John gave a mock scoff. "Oh, I didn't get any noodles. Mommy didn't really either. You and Taylor ate them all."

"I shee Mahmee?" Aaron asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, we can see Mommy in a little bit. She's been asking for you, baby. She told me on the phone after her big job interview that she misses her 'boo nut.' That's you, right, big guy?"

"I bi' boy. Baybee Ceedee dah baybee. I bi' boy."

"Yes, that's right. You're my big boy."

"I go on pahddie," he said, as he had most certainly been making strides in potty training, though pull ups were still very much a part of his reality.

"Yes, you are going on the potty, Aaron. Very proud of you," John said.

"I peepee in pahddie."

"Mmm hmm. Now, we just have to get you to go poops there, too, right?"

"No!" Aaron responded.

"No? Why not? You can peepee there, you can poop there, too," John said, still amused by the fact that he was once a vigilante badass now reduced to speaking to his son about his bowel movements.

"No," he repeated. "I don' wan' poopie 'dere. Poopie in pull up."

John giggled at his little man's stubbornness. From what Joss had told him and what he'd read in the parenting books, it was all in due time that Aaron would cease being afraid of letting go all of his bodily functions in the toilet. For now, he and Joss, along with Taylor and Aaron's teachers would just continue to encourage him—and be thankful that he wasn't afraid of the toilet in general.

"Dahdee?"

"What?"

"Baybee Ceedee sheepin'." John could see his son take a look over at his sister, who was indeed still in dreamland. Aaron then proceeded to tangle his hands and fingers into his thick and billowy hair that grew like weeds, no matter how many haircuts he got, and kicked up his sandaled feet. He then stared out the window.

"Mm hmm. She's sleeping. You're going to bed soon, too, little guy, after dinner and your bath. We just have to get out of this traffic first." John continued to scope out, as the cars moved at a snail's pace, where he could catch a break and merge into a different lane as he spoke.

Aaron did not respond to that. His attention was caught by a few yellow taxi cabs and other vehicles in their space.

Soon, though, he spoke. "Dahdee? Dahdee?"

"Yes, son?" John asked, looking back at him again in the rearview, his eyebrows raised.

"I wan'...mm..Dahdee?"

"What is it, son?"

"I wan' cookie?"

"You want a cookie?" John responded as he put down on the accelerator to go but a mere five miles an hour. Without his shades, he squinted against the glare of the sun on the windshield. Horns continued to honk outside.

"Yee-aah..wan' cookie..."

"Umm, I don't think we have anymore cookies, baby. I think you finished them all. But here, let's see."

With one hand on the steering wheel, and eyes on the traffic flow, John's other hand rustled through the diaper bag on the passenger seat. Through diapers, wipes, socks, rattles, capped bottles, binkies, baby carrots, extra clothes, and ointment, he did not find baby biscuits. He did, however, find a small baggie of saltines.

"How about a cracker, son?"

"Yee-aah. Wan' cwackuh, dahdee..."

"How do we say nicely?"

"Pweese?"

"Okay. Hold on, let me get it for you."

Upon handing Aaron the cracker from the front, he reminded him again of his burgeoning sense of manners, as reinforced by Miss Nancy and Miss Joan at school.

"Aaron? Thank you?"

"Mmm, dahdee. Cwackuh...my cwackuh!" he began to fidget impatiently, just before a light spate of whining.

John was gently insistent and repeated himself before giving up the goods, which he held up between his two fingers. "Thank you?"

"Yan' yooo," Aaron finally responded.

"You're welcome, son. Here, have your sippy cup, too. Still some water in there from the park."

Once Aaron made short work of the cracker and took some of his water, he resumed talking to his father.

"Dahdee?"

"Yes, Aaron."

"Baybee Ceedee...baybee...baybee Ceedee do dah poopie."

"Oh, did she?" John asked with a light chuckle, marveling at the things his almost two year old son came up with out of the blue. He couldn't smell anything, but then he wasn't sitting right next to her. Cedillia continued to sleep through it all, her occasional sighs and stretches all the movement she made.

"Well, Aaron. Just leave her be. She's still sleeping, okay?"

" 'Kay." And then, "dahdee, I wan' go hoom.. I wan' go...where Mahmee?"

"We'll be there soon, honey. Just a little longer."

After another ten minutes of convo between himself and his son, where they talked about the cars and birds, and a number of other things, John finally got the break in the traffic he needed, and once he moved into the lane towards the bridge, it was smooth driving from then on. Aaron continued talking, his sister continued sleeping. And John continued to thank his stars and moon for the gifts he'd been given, making a point to do so every single days of their lives.

And once they reached home, it turned out that Cedillia had indeed done a poopie in her diaper.

 **A/N: I just couldn't resist. I adore writing John and Aaron together, haha. And this actually informs how the tail end of The Arrangement will go a little, when I get back to it. The baby's name is pretty much the same, for example.**

 **From what I remember of my nieces at Aaron's age, the phonetics are fairly cool. Trying to write in the voice of a toddler. Yay, haha.**

 **Thanks for reading, and on to the next shot!**


	10. Street Festival

**A/N: John and Joss have a little bit of summer fun in the neighborhood—and beyond. Enjoy!**

 **Shot No. 10: Street Festival**

"Hey, Carter, bet you're countin' the seconds before you can get outta here for your long weekend," Lionel Fusco said to Joss, as he handed her a file for her look over for him.

"Don't remind me, Fusco. It just makes me more anxious."

Lionel grinned. "I'll bet. A whole four days without baggin' bodies and chasin' perps. That's the fruit of letting all that time pile up. Cap's on everybody's tail now to take their accrued time. I'm next."

"Yeah, you know, it can be hard to put the request for time off on my own. But if Cap wants me not here for a few days, I have no problem with doing that."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well," Joss sighed wistfully, "it's the middle of the summer, so I'll definitely take advantage of the hot weather for some time on the water. Do some work on my garden, too. Those poor plants could do with some TLC. But tomorrow, the Pan Africa festival takes place uptown, so I was going to take Taylor and his friends up there, get some food, here some music, just enjoy the day, you know?"

"Sounds good," Lionel said. "Anything is better than hanging around here on a gorgeous weekend—and waiting for the likes of Wonderboy to come calling. I'll be sure not to tell him where you are if he does come looking for you."

Joss smiled to herself upon hearing the nickname Lionel used for John. "Somehow I don't think that'll be a problem, Fusco. Not a problem at all."

"What, you know something I don't, Carter?"

"No, just a hunch, Fusco."

##

"Thanks for the suggestion, Joss. I've never been to a Pan Africa festival before. Looks...festive."

John, Joss, Taylor, and his best friend Curtis slowly strolled the corners and blocks of 125th Street as the sights, sounds and aromas of the festival flooded the senses. Joss hadn't been to any of the other summer festivals up to that point, and had Cap not made her take a well-earned mini vacation, she would have missed this one, too.

And yes, John was with her and her son. She had, on a lark, asked him if he would come out with them, and she had been surprised when he actually accepted her invitation. But then, they had gotten rather close over the past number of months—at least as close as keeping tabs on Elias and HR would facilitate.

She supposed he needed a break, too. And Finch was all for the idea, even promising to get himself out of their headquarters as a condition for John accompanying Joss to the festival. He declined his own venture into the cultures of Mali and Kenya, among others, as his injury made long walks and standing for considerable periods of time prohibitive.

Dressed in shades and a short sleeved button down black shirt that fit his big and tall frame perfectly, along with black pants and casual loafers, John was the picture of the bad ass man taking in some downtime. While he wasn't officially working, his body still carried the air of authority and control she knew of him so well. In the swarms of people from all over the city, John stood out like a sore—yet very handsome—sore thumb.

But it was her transformation that caught his attention, and as he voiced his opinion, she found herself flushed with a touch of surprise—and if she were honest with herself, a little bit of giddyness as well. Getting a compliment out of John Reese was like prying a rock out of a quarry.

"You look very nice, Joss. Yellow is definitely your color."

Joss sported a rather complimentary bright yellow shift dress that hugged her figure and showed off an ample amount of leg. Leaving her hair in a rather loose ponytail, her outfit was rounded out by a pair of yellow strappy flip flops and a pair of silver coin earrings.

"Thank you, John. You look...very nice as well. A welcome change of pace from the suit, huh?"

She could see him smile behind his shades, even if his lips did not do the upturn. "I don't know. After having worn them every day for so long, I sort of feel a little naked without it. But it's far too warm a day, so I'm not complaining. Thank you."

Taylor and Curtis, who had been kind of weirded out hanging out so closely with Joss in tow, but happy enough all the same. were content with their beef and spice patties with rice and chickpeas. John had been the big man to spring for samplings of ethnic snacks and drinks as they passed various booths of steaming and succulent dishes including jollof rice and spicy chicken, curried beef, cabbage, lamb and beans, and peanut stew among others. John decided to be adventurous and try one of the spicy chicken and vegetable kabobs. It was love at first taste.

Joss smiled brightly at him as he seemed to be allowing himself to let go and enjoy all that went on, if only a little. She wanted that for him, just as she had for herself. There was more to life than chasing creeps on the streets of their city. Steel drums and carnival costumes blended with the aromas and chants of vendors selling jewelry, clothing, and art, as well as snacks and drinks. It was perfect.

"Ma, Curtis and I are gonna go check out the other side. We'll see you later," Taylor annouced through a cloud of charcoal fire.

"You sure, baby? John and I were going to watch the reggae show over at the second stage."

"Yeah, well you and John can do that. We were going to meet up with some of the kids from school. They're on the other side of the festival, a few blocks up. Can we go?"

Joss looked over at John to gauge his expression. Behind the shades, he didn't look too worse for wear.

"All right, Taylor. Just make sure you head home before it gets dark, and call me to let me know where you are before that. Understood?"

"Yeah, Ma. I will. Love you," he said with a kiss to her cheek.

"Love you, too. Keep out of trouble. You got enough of your allowance in your pocket?"

"Uh huh, I'm good. Curtis is too. We'll see you later, Ma. John, thanks for lunch."

"No problem, Taylor. You guys be careful and have a good time," John said, shaking each of their hands.

Soon, the boys had disappered into the throng of the crowd. Joss and John watched after them until they could no longer see them in the mass of people.

"Shall we, John? Good reggae is good reggae."

"After you, Detective."

##

Island Vibes was the headliner for the West Indies Diaspora portion of the festival, and their brand of roots rhythms—or riddims—as they called it were an infectious blend of drums, bass, and guitar. Both John and Joss helped themselves to fruity drinks mixed with rum and coconut milk, and soon the combination of alcohol and groove saw Joss, along with a number of other festival goers, busting a few grooves herself.

John, for his part, merely stood back, hidden behind his shades, as if he was some plain clothes secret service agent: stoic, still, ready to topple any imaginary phantom or bad guy who even thought to look at her with anything denoting ill intentions. The only thing that betrayed his countenance was the smile that slowly spread across his face as he watched her gently glide and bounce back and forth across the pavement near the main stage.

Joss let herself get so caught up in the vibrations of the band that she almost forgot John was there. Almost.

"John! Come here! What are you doing standing all the way over there? Hey, I know you know how to dance, John. It's your day off. Let's go!" she said, looking back and motioning with her free hand.

"Oh, I don't—I don't think so, Joss. This is good right here." John said quickly, panickingly, shaking his head.

"Come on here. I'll dance with you," she demanded, pulling him by the arm into the small crowd.

John dutifully did as he was instructed, holding his drink in one hand, Joss' waist in the other. Finding a small patch of space just for the two of them, John was surely timid at first to join Joss in her revelry. But she was so persuasive—and so beautiful when she moved—that after a moment or two, he forgot all about his trepidation, and follwing her lead, let his own body be taken by the groove of the bass too.

It wasn't long before John was fully mesmerized by Joss' hips and arms as they rocked too and fro, up and down. He followed her lead, and soon the pair had drawn a crowd around them, the black lady in her yellow dress and her handsome fella, John's inhibitions melting away. They embraced and spun, bumped and grinded, slipped and slid, twisted and bent into one another over and over through one song, then two, then three. All the while, John kept on his shades, but Joss could tell that he followed her every move, every curve and dip of her body. Their foreheads touched as they moved, and that smile he had only got wider, freer. In that moment, he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. The fact that their bodies had been so intitmate as they had been at the moment, when the only other times John had touched her had been to pull her out of the path of a bullet, wasn't lost on her. Not in the least.

The coconut rum drink didn't cause that hot feeling that ran throughout her body. No, that wasn't it at all. She could admit to herself that he was having quite the effect on her. An effect that a bit of rum couldn't hold a candle to.

They'd have to slow down. Or she wasn't exactly sure what would happen.

"Damn, John," she breathed, when they finally slowed and took a break on a nearby bench. "When I said I knew you could dance, I was kidding! Where'd you pick up those moves in between kneecapping muggers?"

Keep it light, she thought. Nice and light.

"Oh, I don't know, Joss. I think I've had a pretty good teacher," he said, at first looking into the crowd, then, back at her. The latest smile that came was genuine, as well as something else. It was somehow, naked, in its way. It was as if he was allowing her to push him that far so as to reveal something about himself, on another level. Something another person wouldn't have been able to get him to reveal about himself. But she could. She could get him to do a lot of things others couldn't.

"Well, I won't tell if you won't."

"Oh, I don't mind. So long as Lionel doesn't know, I guess. And that'd be more for his sake than mine."

He took the shades off then, and silver green met dark brown. And there, she saw it in him too, as clear as day. He had felt it, too.

"I'm having a good time, Joss. Thank you for sharing your time off with me. And for convincing me to come here today. Sometimes, it can be hard to remember that there is life outside of the work we do."

"Yes, John. That's very true. And I'm glad I was able to convince you to come with us."

Their gazes continued to follow one another's. Words not spoken, feelings not acted upon. But all the same, there—and real. Very much so.

Would they dare? Would they?

"The day is young, Detective. Shall we continue to enjoy ourselves?"

She grinned, a tendril of hair slipping out of her summer bun.

"I think that's a good idea, John. A very good idea."

"How about another drink?"

"Sure. Make it lemon soda this time though. One of us has to drive us home later."

"Very true, Joss. But which one of us? And to whose home?"

Before she could answer that one, John had already moved ahead of her towards one of the food tents, money in hand to get that lemon soda.

 **A/N: Just a taste of the summer possibilities. To whose home indeed! Hope you liked this shot, and there should certainly be more to come.**


	11. Slumber

**A/N: A throwback to an earlier Shot. This one turns the tables, just a bit. Enjoy!**

 **Shot No. 11: Slumber**

The neighborhood was quiet, as was to be expected at three am. Joss parked her Impala in the small space left to her on the side of the street in front of her brownstone. She was glad there was a space; usually, Mr. Johnson, her widowed neighbor, didn't always remember to leave enough room for her, even if he didn't mean to squeeze her out. The fact that he hadn't that overnight meant that she didn't have to park an extra two blocks down the street. Pitching a fit over it with him was out of the question. Mr. Johnson was a good man, if somewhat forgetful in his later years.

Getting out of the car, she sighed in her exhaustion and tilted her head back in the face of her front door. Another night of paperwork on another double homicide. Well, at least she didn't have to go in for another _shift_ until the following day. All she planned to do then was find a quiet shower and slip into bed after it, careful not to disturb the vigilante who slept beside her there, most nights.

Yes, he would be sleeping there, and very much asleep at that point. It was just as well. John worked hard, she worked hard, they all worked hard. Rest was a precious commodity. She was loathe to disturb him. But the shower beckoned with all the promise of freedom and relief that it could. She do her best not to make any racket.

Stepping into the foyer after unlocking the door, she could hear the shower's calls louder and louder. It clashed with the ache in her back and the stress in her feet. And so, in response, at the base of the stairs, she clipped up her hair and began to undress. Her nudity in the middle of her stairwell, the discarded clothing, was not to be shocking or scandalous. Her son was at his father's house; she was a grown woman. And besides, a sleeping John had seen it—and done it—all anyway.

Her soft, tiny feet bounded up the stairs as silently as she could make them. For she really didn't want to wake him up.

##

The warm spray of the shower had done its magic. A few quick lathers in her favorite mint and lavender body wash, followed by a few quick rinses in the spray had been enough to for the trick of relieving the grime and weight of her momentous task back at the precinct. The baby oil lost itself in her skin, and so by the time she had managed to dry off, she was as luminous and supple as the sleek fur of a panther. Toothbrush, make up remover, skin scrub. All these she employed in due course, and with each task, she felt more human again. Her slumber would be good, the sleep of the dead. Just as it should be.

As silently as possible, she padded into her bedroom, the creak of the door ever so slight. She saw him there, on his back, his big torso and body taking up considerable space in the middle of her bed. And he was indeed asleep, the corners of his lips upturned in that stern grimace he tended to put on in his rest. It was as if even in sleep he couldn't completely let go of that air of authority he carried with him as The Man in the Suit. At the same time, however, there was a vulnerability to his face, a softness that he didn't really share with anyone but her. A lock of hair brushed his forehead. His breathing was steady. He was as naked as she was, covered only slightly by the down comforter across the bed.

Her gorgeous, brave man. Having him there made her feel safe. Of course, she could take care of herself. She had been doing that for years. But still, John Reese made her feel safe. That was a good feeling to have.

She smiled in the dimness of the nightlight she left on in the corner as she studied him. Joss was happy that there, in her bed, and indeed in her body, he could find that comfort in her, as she likewise did in him. They didn't talk to many others about their relationship and how it went; Fusco, to his shock and awe, had only just found out that they had taken things to the next level a week before that. Shaw still couldn't get over someone wanting to have anything to do with John "in that way." She took it all in stride. If anyone had told her she'd be sharing time with John Reese outside of their jobs, she'd have laughed—or scoffed—too.

Quietly slipping into the bed, Joss knew that her tiny stature was a boon in not making too many waves, which meant he'd keep on snoozing. She turned to him to kiss his forehead before settling in—but suddenly, that plan had changed.

John turned in his sleep on his side, and in making contact with her skin, reached out, eyes still closed, to gently grab her and pull her into his arms. She followed, of course, though surprised that he wasn't all that much asleep. But then, why should she have been? He was no ordinary man.

Without a word, he opened his mouth to find hers. It was no mere peck on the lips, but a full-on and intentioned kiss that she had no choice but to return. And he continued, pulling her more into his chest, more into his kiss, his fingers moving up her arms and back to catch the clip holding her hair, only to pull it out and throw it on the floor.

"John…" she murmured through his kisses. He still said nothing, the only sound he made being the pants of breath coming from his rising chest. He was near frantic for her. With each movement, each stroke of his fingers across her skin, his ardor increased.

Her exhaustion disappeared. Whatever he had planned in that moment, she was ready for.

"John…"

Finally, he spoke, though his eyes remained closed, the sooty lashes soft and sweet, his voice deep and gravely.

"I'm glad you're home."

"So am I, John."

"I almost got up…to come and get you…but I know you wouldn't appreciate something like that, so I waited…"

"Mmmm..baby, you should be asleep. You don't have to do that. Plus, all that paperwork would still be waiting for me."

"I know I don't. But I did. I am glad you're home. Where I can see you…touch you. So…glad."

And with that, he was done talking. For the next hour or so, his body said everything that needed to be said, as he found her breasts and parted her thighs, and gave himself to her. Joss' body opened willingly, gladly, his rhythm and passion like none she'd ever experienced with another man.

And then, after wrapping them both up in the downy comforter, he held her in his arms and stroked her hair and skin a little more, while gently rocking her as if she were the most precious baby on earth.

She would sleep then. She would be safe—and loved. He'd make sure of it. When had he not?

 **A/N: This one was inspired by "Solace" (Shot No. 4) but also, for some strange reason, by the hospital scene in "The Crossing." I thought John was cute in his moment of near death in the opening of that episode after being shot by Simmons. He was injured, but still managed to have something of a grimace on his face. Slight, but sure. I notice these things, I guess.**

 **Well, I hope you all enjoyed. Stay tuned for more Careese shots (and the other stories too)!**


	12. Summer Magic--Street Festival II

**A/N: Decided to continue on with festival day, given where I left off the first time. Enjoy!**

 **Shot No. 12: Summer Magic (Street Festival II)**

As the day slowly slipped into evening, John and Joss had managed to watch a street play, take on one another in a few games of darts, sampled more delicious ethnic foods, and listened to local African poets recite their works, in many languages. Joss had even sampled the wares of the local jewelry and art vendors, picking up for herself a pair of shell-and-stone earrings and a beautiful kente shawl that she would probably use to drape over the rocking chair in her living room. John stood by, nodded his approval, and smiled as she tried on the earrings.

"They suit you, Joss," he said as he helped her with them by gently sweeping whisps of her hair that had come out of the hairclip away from her neck. The gentle brush of his fingers sent tiny shivers of electricity across her body, but she willed herself to stay focused on the sights and sounds at hand.

"Thank you, John. You know, I think so too. I'll take these, and the shawl." She dutifuly paid for her purchases, and soon they were on their way to further discoveries.

It had been a busy day, but they were not done with the energy and rhythm the Pan Africa festival had to offer them. The night wove a magical spell as it fell upon them, the warmth of the summer day giving way to a refreshing, moonlit breeze.

Motherly duties, however, were never far from the equation.

"Okay, Taylor. That's fine. You just make sure to go straight to Curtis' house and nowhere else. You understand me? This is your chance to remind me that I really can trust you do the right thing. I'll be getting a report from Curtis' parents, so I'd remember what I said if I were you. Okay. I'll pick you up tomorrow. All right, love you, baby."

Joss disconnected the call and returned to a waiting John, who had done so nearby at a jewelry vendor booth, in a move towards giving her a little privacy to make that call. She returned to him with a smile, which he returned in kind. His shades were now tucked in his shirt.

"Everything okay, Joss?"

"Yes. Taylor's gonna spend some time with Curtis and his family tonight, and I told him I was good with that. I know where he is and with whom. That's enough."

"He is a teenager, Joss. Good for him to spread his wings, handle things on his own a little."

"Well, he's just come off being grounded for not handling things all that well, but you're right. He's not a baby anymore, and I have to be able to trust him—and myself in having been a single mom all this time. I think I've done okay, but sometimes, I have my doubts, you know?"

John nodded his head. "It's not easy being a parent, Joss. From what I know of it, I mean. But from where I sit, you're an amazing mom. He's lucky."

Joss grinned. She was so beautiful when she smiled. "Thanks. You know, John, I think you'd make a great father some day. Ever consider settling down?"

He slowly turned his head to look at her. His eyes were veiled, but she thought she could detect a touch of humor in them—as well as sadness.

"From your voice to God's ears, I guess, Carter. In the meantime, there's a city that needs cleaning up. Anything beyond that is hard to fathom just now."

She smiled, but did not speak. The awkward silence of seconds passed between them, probably for the first time that day.

However, the enchantment of the afternoon was too big for them to get caught up in drama. It helped her break that awkward silence.

"Hey, wanna go hear some more music? It's Afro-Cuban."

"Okay," he grinned, as if he were glad for the change of subject too. "Great. I'm game for more toe stepping if you are. Let's go, Detective."

##

The hot rhythm of the salsa music was infectious, and pretty soon into the band's set, Joss found herself moving yet again to the beat of the congas. An impromptu concrete dance floor had been made by the gathered crowd, and both she and John wordlessly found themselves, as it were, at it again. To her surprise, John was no slouch when it came to the dance moves that made the difference. His footwork was perfect, and not only that, he was confident enough in his moves to let himself go with it, to enjoy everything about what they were doing. The gringo was so good that other dancers applauded him, to which he took a rather playful bow. With his slicked salt and pepper hair, tanned skin and masculine countenance, she could see him as the Latin man with the magnetism to draw just that kind of attention. A tingle of pride that he was with her made itself known, and she marked the feeling for safe keeping.

Their bodies glided and bumped into one another's while the horns and congas blended with the lead singer and his backup voices. Joss' dress twirled and whipped as John dipped and spun her to the rhythm. She squeeled at some times and laughed at others, though each time she found herself back in his arms, his strength a source of trust for her. Hands and fingers intertwined before loosening, only to find one another's arms and torsos in the whirl of the dance.

A thigh caress, a leg lift, a spin, a twist of John's hips, a gentle hand splayed over her belly—all proved to be hypnotic in a way neither one of them had experienced in years. The aromas of wine and beer wafted through the summer air, and both Joss and John continued to discover that dreamy yet excitable state that an early summer night could bring. It had the potential for magic, and so much more.

Soon, they came in close as the tempo slowed for a little bit of drag dancing. The lilt of the piano carried them as they embraced and held one another, their eyes finding kindred spirits within one anothers'. She had to lookup at him to see him, but see him she did. And she knew that the pull towards him that she felt was most assuredly mutual. Her hands splayed across his back. She wouldn't let go. If it were up to her, she'd never let go.

Joss could feel him breathing, feel his heart beating under his black button down. As the music continued, she let her head fall against his chest, let herself relax in his arms.

It had seemed a lifetime since she'd been able to be that free with another man. Certainly not since Paul. Not since all the heartbreak of Paul.

"Hey," he murmured in her ear. "You all right?"

"Uh-huh," she replied. "I'm great. Just great."

He reached down to gently sweep back more of her hair that had slipped from the clip.

"You wanna stay a little longer, or get out of here?"

"Mmm," she weighed for a second, "I think we've had a good time. But getting home would be nice. Gotta save some of my energy for the rest of the weekend."

"Exactly. Okay. Let's go."

It was decided, on the toss of a coin, that John would drive—and they'd head back to her place. It was, after all, closer. And Taylor was at Curtis' house for the night.

It made all the sense in the world.

##

"You comin' in?" she asked, as nonchalantly as she could, her eyes widened with a less than exaggerated wonder.

John, who seemed as mellow and as at ease as she'd ever seen him, looked over to her, the dreamy atmosphere brought about by the street party still on his face.

"Sure. I'd like that. Plus, it would give me a chance to make sure the alarm system I installed is still up to snuff."

She grinned. Keeping her safe was never far from his mind. "Yeah, I guess that would be all right."

Upon exiting John's car, they walked together to her door. Neither one touched the other. They just went to the door. But they both knew that they had, together, passed a point that night neither one of them could ever come back to as they had before.

##

"Hey, sorry, but the AC is on the bink again. I only have fans," she called from the kitchen. "Maybe instead of looking at my security system, you could be my HVAC guy. Lemonade okay?"

"Yes, Carter. Lemonade's fine. As are the fans. Thank you," he called back to her, while indeed looking the security system over.

Within minutes, she came back into the living room, barefoot, with a pitcher and two glasses of lemonade. John, having noticed the loss of footwear and her tiny, dainty feet—the toenails painted dark red—made himself at home, as he had not been able to before. Usually, his visits had been of the breaking and entering kind. It was nice to have been invited, for a change.

She had also brought a small snack of grapes, cheddar cheese, and crackers. There were also a few chocolate chip cookies that she had baked for Taylor the night before.

"Mmm, cookies, too? You spoil me, Detective," he said, grabbing one and taking a bite.

"Well, I figure you might have worked up an appetite after all that dancing, so..."

He smirked and winked at her as he chewed, his gaze friendly, yet demanding attention. "I appreciate it, Joss. Thank you."

"I'm glad," she replied, nervously for some reason. This was John, after all. They were off the books partners and had become friends. So why was she suddenly aware of her heart pounding in her chest?

"I never did ask you. How long have you lived here?"

She laughed. "What? You and Finch don't know that already? Thought you guys knew everything."

"Well, in all of my snooping on you, that was one piece of info I forgot to look for. No one's perfect."

She took a sip from her glass before she spoke. "Taylor and I have been here since he was a little boy, around the age of six for him. I had just gotten separated from his father, and we needed a place, fast. Luckily, an old girlfriend of mine had a lead on this one, and pricing worked out for my soon-to-be single cop's budget. We've been here ever since."

"I see," he said, quietly, the lemonade ice tinkling in the glass. He took a look around the living room, which had a wall cut out for the kitchen, as if he was seeing it for the first time. "It's...cozy. A real home."

"Well, I try, for Taylor. It's not easy being a cop's son. Especially being caught between two parents. But I try."

"Mother and father, humm?"

"Yeah, sometimes," she said, her eyes downcast in her own glass. "Taylor's dad and I have an understanding, and the custody arrangement has been good over the past few years. But it certainly is still a challenge. We just love him, and do the best we can."

"Well, like I said, Carter, you're a great mom. I see how you are with him. He's lucky to have you."

"Thanks, John,"she replied. And again, that awkward silence fell over them. They didn't speak for what seemed eternity, though it was only a minute or so. They simply tried to pretend that they weren't completely in tune with one another. Tried to avert gazes, steal furtive glances at one another, only to turn heads at the fern in the corner, the front window with the stanined glass detail, the small space that served as her dining room.

It was up to Joss to break the silence again. "You know what? I think I'm gonna go up and take a shower. A long, sticky, fun day. This dress has had enough of me."

John started for a second, then stopped to think for another. "Oh! Uh, okay. I'll just get out of your hair then."

"Umm, no, that's okay. You can stay. I have this long weekend, so I'm in no rush to be anywhere tomorrow. I just wanna get cleaned up, get a little comfier. Please, I'd like that."

John smiled warmly. "Okay. I'd like that, too."

"Listen. Taylor usually watches TV in the spare room upstairs. Best way to keep the living room tidy. You're more than welcome to help yourself. Bring the snacks. There are also box fans in that room to keep cool with." And with that, she ran up the stairs to start the shower, leaving John to stand there and watch after her, before he smiled again and followed her up.

##

The lukewarm water started, the loofah and bodywash retrieved from the cupboard, Joss hastily removed dress, bra, and panties from her body. The cooling air of the bathroom made her shiver for a brief moment, but some of that had to do with the fact that John was so close by, just two doors down the hallway in the spare room decked out in beanbag chairs, a games table, a futon, and NFL throw rugs. Hopefully, he would be entertained by the choice of 100 channels, as well as comfortable with the box fans in the room. She really did have to get the AC worked on, once and for all.

Removing the clip from her hair, she stepped into the shower spray and was immediately lifted by the relaxing power of the water. It hit her skin like a gentle shock to the system and she sighed audibly as it worked it charms.

Soap, lather, rinse, shampoo, rinse. Again. And again. Joss went with the motions of her shower. But as she felt free enough in the comfort and release of the spray to raise her arms in a stretch, a pair of fingers and hands gently caught hold of her midriff from the side of the flowered curtain, stopping just below her breasts.

She wasn't startled. She merely stopped stretching, and slowly let her hands and arms down. Her heart began to beat so hard that she thought it would explode from her chest, and her secret place throbbed in unison.

But no, she wasn't startled. Instead, she smiled, a slow, knowing smile, a smile that let him in on the fact, even from behind, that she'd understood what she was doing when she asked him to stay.

She should have been ashamed. But she was wasn't. Not in the least.

"Hi," she said over the water.

"Hi," he replied in kind. "I guess...I guess I'm...uh...a little sticky, too."

She turned to face him, her wet hair clinging in soft curls around her face, and upon seeing the body he had only before been able to hold in dance, his breath caught. But he didn't ever fully avert his gaze from hers, the silver-green bright, vulnerable. He held her captive there, messages sent and received that he couldn't put into mere words about what he was feeling at that moment.

As naked as she was, his body was tall and beautiful. Muscled. Scarred. Soft and smooth in some places, hard in others. Especially below the waist. The masculine arousal was unmistakeable—and all for her. All about her.

And yes, he was summer sticky, too.

Taking his hand, she guided him into the shower spray with her. He followed, still not having taken his eyes off hers. The water caught his hair, turning the damp strands wetter, plastering it to his forehead. And it was there, in the lukewarm water, that they shared their first kiss. It started tentatively, as if they were babies taking their very first steps, until it grew stronger, wilder, and the sweet fury of the dance returned to them. They found new rhythms to explore, new ways to bump and glide into one another. And it was all so much more intense. So much more.

Eventually, they left the rush of soap and water to dry one another off before retreating to sweetness of her bed, to revel and burn in a heat of their own making. What the next day would bring, neither of them knew. But having lived the lives they did, on the edge of no tomorrow, they didn't care. All there was to know was that moment. That long weekend.

 **A/N: So, for all you kind readers who were wondering what these two might get up to after the festival, there ya go! Joss is a slick one, isn't she? Showering with her vigilante friend in the house, on purpose. She sure did know what she was doing. And John, like a champ, got the message. Good for him. Some men are just full on dense, and have no clues. Definitely a weekend to remember.**

 **Another Careese shot is in the works. Stay tuned, and thanks, as usual!**


	13. Vacation?

**A/N: What happens when the Carter-Reese family tries to load up for a vacay—with a new addition in tow. Enjoy!**

 **Shot No. 13 : Vacation?**

Little Miss Cedillia Reese, who was all of five months old, was having a hard time all through her baby bath. Even her beloved Daddy couldn't seem to get her settled from the fit of fussy she was having. Normally a chipper little miss, on that morning, there was no consoling her. John was heartbroken. While he knew it was all part of the program, hearing his little baby girl in distress induced anxiety within him like no gun play on the streets of New York ever could.

"Oh, sweet pea, I'm sorry. Daddy's so sorry," he cooed to his baby girl. "I woke my princess up, didn't I? And now, you're all wet and soapy at this hour. But Daddy thought he was doing best. It's still so early, I know..."

Cedillia seemed to calm for a few seconds once the warm bath water was poured over her little thighs and belly. After a few more rinses there, and a last one through her hair to get out all the traces of shampoo, John lovingly wrapped the baby up in a towel and got her to the changing table, the dim light of the lamp guiding his way. She was much better then, as she rubbed her little nose into her daddy's shoulder from the comfort of the towel.

"Mmm, how you doin', John?" Joss asked, herself still a bit groggy for the early start, dressed in boy shorts and a tank top. She came into the nursery, a room that Cedillia half shared with her big brother Aaron, who was not awake at that point—since he kicked up a fuss the night before and cried his own lungs out so as to be able to sleep with his parents. He'd been doing that off and on as of late. Usually, John and Joss both insisted that the boy sleep in his own little toddler bed—but that night, in the interests of their early start that morning, they let him have his way. If it meant he'd go to sleep, they did indeed.

"We're just about ready for clothes. Is Taylor up yet?"

"I'll go see," she replied, giving him a light hug and nuzzle before leaving the room. Seconds later, a bellow out of Joss came clear as anything through the doorway, and John chuckled at her voice, as effective as reveille ever was in the Army.

"Taylor! Taylor, you up? Come on, get up, we gotta get going so we can get on the road."

"Yeah...yeah, Ma. I'm up. Anybody in the bathroom, so I can get a shower?"

"What about the bathroom downstairs?"

"What about the one up here?" he retorted through the closed door.

Joss rolled her eyes. "Taylor Carter, don't be fresh. Just come on and get ready. John's dressing your sister and I'm gonna get Aaron up in a bit. Best get in while you can."

"Okay Ma, thank you," he replied from behind the door.

She stood there for a second longer before turning back to her daughter's room to give John another quick kiss, as well as her little girl's forehead.

"Well, you heard," she said.

"Yes, I did," John replied giggling. "That oughta do."

"If you don't hear that door open in the next ten minutes, go in there and kick his butt," she said, with a wink before stepping back into their bedroom to see about Aaron.

##

"John, make sure you're gentle with her curls," Joss said, recalling the last time he'd tried to put her piggy tails in. He had unwittingly pulled Cedillia's hair just so—but it was enough to keep her in wails for several minutes. No, she wasn't the fussiest baby in the world, certainly not as fussy as her brother was at her age, but she had her moments. Any tugging on hair was a no-go. And whenever she did get cross, John always came off as if he'd never get over having made his own daughter cry.

"We're good," he said, pulling out her onesie shorts jumpsuit, a rainbow-colored flower on the front. They would forgo socks and shoes for both of their young children on such a warm day. Cedillia, like Aaron, only managed to get them lost anyway.

"Besides, as you can see, I haven't quite made it to her hair yet. You want to take that on? I'll justgo rustle up little man and getting him his bath next."

"You sure? I can get Aaron ready. Here, I'll take care of CeeCee and Aaron, you go and see if we left anything out of the car. And get us some coffee. It'll help me to stay awake for the drive this time."

"I don't mind if you sleep on the way, Joss. It is earlier than sin when I bug you all to get up, but we know how popular Montauk Beach is. I like to make sure we have as smooth a ride as possible. Yes, little one," he said, returning back to his crying baby angel. "Daddy's got the diaper cream, and you're almost there..."

As John manuevered her into her diaper, and as she saw that her mommy was there with him, little Cedillia's cries had waned, until she had managed to get herself down to just a few whimpers. Soon, little could be heard in the room, save for the tear of diaper tapes and the wiggles of a baby finally getting used to the idea of having been awakened before she was ready to be.

"You are so lucky, CeeCee, to have such a good daddy. Yes! Yes, you are!" Joss cooed to her daughter. Your big brothers will get their washes because we're going to go on our big adventure! Back to the beach! You like that? Huh, baby? Oh, yes, you love the beach."

Cedillia giggled at her mommy's words, and even more so at the funny faces she made while telling her about their trip. They were indeed headed back to Montauk Beach, in honor of the Labor Day weekend, but also as a means to revisit the place that had played such a role in getting their family to where it was at that point. They hadn't finished their weekend the previous year; Joss' sudden collapse—and revelation—had made that impossible. So, they wanted to go back, and make up for the lost time and fun they'd missed out on, as well as to, in their own way, recommit to one another, as a family, as a unit. Corinne, who had not been present the previous summer, was also invited to join them. It was only natural that she be there.

"Mahmee? Mahmee?" a little boy's voice gently cried, before they heard a slight clatter on the wooden floor of their bedroom.

"Well, so much for Aaron still being alseep." John grinned.

##

With knapsacks, baby bags, outdoor gear, sunscreen, and other items ready to go in the back of the Volvo, John and Taylor busied themselves with strapping the kids in their seats, while Joss did a double check of the brownstone one last time. They would be meeting Corinne there at the resort, so a swing by her house wouldn't be needed. Besides, with Taylor and the babies in the back, as well as some of the gear, there would have been little room to fit her anyway.

When everyone was settled in the vehicle, John took a deep breath for the drive ahead, and allowed himself to take a look around at his family. The slow smile was infectious, and pretty soon, they were all in a good way. Cedillia had a bottle of breast milk to keep her occupied, while Aaron took his juice and cereal snack from containers in his car seat. When he had had enough, he busied himself with pulling at one of Taylor's old Constructo blocks that he'd managed to save from his mother's penchant for donations.

"Let's get this AC cranked up here first before we get started," John said from the driver's seat. "Thank goodness it's not so hot just now. These leather seats." He looked over at Joss. "Was the GPS working okay, babe?"

"I have my dress on, I'm good. Yes, it was fine last I drove the truck. Don't you know the way there anyway?"

"Should always keep it in working order, just in case. Detours, that kind of thing. And of course, you are good," he replied with a kiss to her lips, a kiss that lingered a little too long for Taylor's taste.

"Can you two cut that out? I have my stomach to think about."

"Boy, we don't care about your stomach," Joss said, giggling against John's cheek.

"Well, I do!" he exclaimed. "Cut that out. Mushy stuff."

"All right, Taylor," John piped in. "I guess since you aren't feeling so well you won't want your breakfast when we stop on the way at Wally's Diner. Aaron will eat it. Right, Aaron?"

"Yeee-aah," Aaron said, to nothing in particular. Instead, from his car seat on his mother's side, he held up the Constructo toy for his father to see his handywork. "Dahdee, wook! Wookit, Dahdee! I do dis. I do dis, Dahdee!"

Oh, very nice, Aaron."

"Iss air-pwane, Dahdee...go wooom-wooooom..."

Taylor, who was in something of a mischievous mood, suddenly grabbed the Constructo toy from his little brother's hand, which of course got Aaron started in a fit.

"Gimme my toy. That's my toy, Aaron. Nope, it's mine."

"Noooooo! Myyy pwane! Tay-yoo! Noooooo..."

"Taylor!" Joss called from the front. "What are you doing? Give that child that toy back! Now!"

"But it's mine, Ma," he said, playfully.

She turned around in her seat on him, and fixed her best mother warning glare on him. "Boy, if you make him cry this whole ride, you will have to calm him down—and you're grounded when we get home. Now, give it back! I mean it!"

"Okay, Ma, I was just playing. Here, Aaron. Geez.."

"That's not the way you play with a child Aaron's age, Taylor. Please, before we get this car moving, please get it together, okay? Please."

"Okay, Ma! I gave him the toy back! What?"

"Taylor, just be quiet, all right? I'm not having this discussion with you anymore. It's too early in the morning."

"Beee why-et. Bee why-et, Tay-yo," Aaron repeated, adding his two cents. His little forefinger moved to his mouth to make the "shhh" gesture. Taylor looked away, and out the window, his attitude unmistakeable, a touch of mumbling his response, a suck of teeth clearly heard.

John looked up at the ceiling and rolled his eyes. He loved his family more than anything, but sometimes, they were all just too much for words.

Several seconds passed before he spoke.

"Are you guys done now? Or shall I turn off and we unpack everything? Let me know in the next minute, okay? That's as long as I'll give you to decide. Sixty seconds." His sound of voice was not outwardly harsh—but the low tone made no mistake his chagrin with the atmosphere in the the vehicle.

"Yes, John," Joss said quietly, a sweep of her fingers going across her brow. "Sorry, baby. Maybe it is the early hour."

"No, it's okay," he said, his eyes raised in mock indifference. "What else should I expect when all five of us are in this vehicle together? At least Aaron didn't throw up on or hit his brother this time."

He sighed, loudly, loud enough to get both Joss and Taylor to remember exactly where they were. Pretty soon, the drama stopped and they were ready—even if the sulky teen stayed sulky.

"Right. I think the AC has cooled us down well enough. Shall we go? I'd really like for us to go."

"Yes, Pop, we can go. I can go back to sleep when we get to the motel," Taylor said. "Doubt if it'll happen here." He glanced at his brother and sister. And indeed, Aaron had gotten his second wind, the disputed Constructo now forgotten for something else he fussed for, within reach.

"Okay. Guess I can't argue with that," John replied, a slight grit to his teeth, a sardonic grin on his face.

And to think he'd been considering a family trip to Disney. Right. Disney. On a plane.

The Volvo reversed, turned, and headed for the expressway as the first hints of sunrise began to make themselves known. Montauk Beach or bust.

 **A/N: Yes, even older brothers who should know better can be annoying. Probably serves Aaron right a little bit, though, haha. Poor John. He just wants to get on the road and get them to Montauk Beach for a happy time. But plans have a way of not going to plan. Hopefully, the drive won't be too painful from that point on!**

 ***this one was inspired by a chap or two from The Arrangement, which I'll get back to shortly, as well as other stories.**

 **Thanks for the read. Stay tuned!**


	14. Juggling

**A/N: Another family based one shot. A day in the life of a working wife and mother.**

 **Shot No. 14: Juggling**

"Come on, baby. You wanna play? You wanna play with Daddy? Hmm, little one? Come on, let's play. Yes, yes, let's go play," John cooed to Cedillia as he walked with her in jeans, U of Washington football sweatshirt, and bare feet from the kitchen after her morning breakfast of bananas and light cereal. As soon as he put her down on the blanket in the living room with her baby toys, he could hear the click-clack of Joss' stiletto pumps as she quickly made her way down the stairs with Aaron in one arm, her briefcase and purse in hand. She was kissing him her good mornings before she put him down to join his sister and father on the carpet.

"Taylor? You ready? Your Pop made a big breakfast. I want you to be sure to have something to eat before I drop you off at school," she called from the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah, Ma, I'm comin'," Taylor hollered back. And within a few moments, he too, joined them downstairs, backpack slung, school uniform neatly pressed. He hugged his mother and got into the kitchen for a plate of John's famous scrambled eggs, buttered toast, bacon and juice, each item carefully laid out in pans on the stove top. Coffee with his mother's name on it brewed in the pot, while fresh fruit waited in the fruit bowl. Bear rested on his pillow near the back window.

Joss turned her attention to John and the babies. Cedillia, dressed in a yellow ducky jumpsuit and socks, her hair unhindered by barrettes and pigtails and curly about her head, had learned about creeping, and was now getting the notion that there was more to that. In watching her brother, who was busy pushing his wheeled wooden horse around the living room, how could she not?

"Now, baby," she said, bending down to give John his own version of the good morning kiss, her loose locks gently brushing his cheek, "are you sure you turned in Aaron's permission slip for the farm trip?"

"Yes, honey," John replied, his eyes twinkling at his beautiful wife in her dark blue pantsuit, inky black hair, and subdued makeup, a flashback to her detective days with the 8th Precinct. "I did. I have a copy of it in his backpack, inside his bagged lunch. I'm chaperoning, too, remember?"

"Yes, of course," she said sweetly, "Oh, I'm so glad you're going, getting to experience Aaron's first fieldtrip, even if I can't go with you this time. He and all the other kids couldn't be in better hands."

"Thanks, honey. Likewise, your new client. Henderson Shaw's lucky to have you in his corner."

"Well, he's not my client. He's Joe Szysmanky's client. I'm just the back up. But being the back up has proved to be a rather involved job."

John grinned. "Still, he's lucky you're the back up. Working late again tonight, I presume?" he said, while pulling Aaron back by his jean waistband before he could tumble over on his little sister, horse and all.

"Yes, but I promise I'll be home for dinner. I want to hear all about the farm trip, and how my baby boy did today. I really wish I could go," she said, glumly, her lips turned up into a frown.

"Honey, there will be other field trips. We'll take turns. You get on out there and keep showing the New York judicial system what you're still made of. Proud of you, sweetie." His eyes continued to beam at her, a loving smirk on his face.

It was Taylor's turn now to call for her. "Ma, you about ready? Gotta get going or I'll miss homeroom," Taylor said from the kitchen, his mouth full of food.

Joss smiled back at John before picking up Aaron for one more big hug and kiss before his big fieldtrip. "Aaron, boo nut, I have to get your big brother off to school. You have a good time on the farm, okay? And be a good boy with Daddy. If you're not behaving, Mommy will be sad. So be my good boo nut. Okay?"

"'Kay, Mahmie. Go to fahm," Aaron cooed. "Go wi' Dahdee. Go to fahm."

"Yeah, baby. So much fun!"

" I shee hoor-dee," Aaron said, in his best 'horsie' pronounciation.

"Corinne should be by in a little while to gather up CeeCee for the trip to her house. Looks like everyone has somewhere to be today," John said, while gently rubbing and patting CeeCee's diapered bottom.

"Yes. Yes, we do," Joss said with a sigh before handing Aaron to John, and taking up CeeCee for her own hug and kiss. Joss couldn't resist doing Mommy things, however, and so the little girl found herself annoyed with her mother as she picked a bit of goo-goo from her little nose first.

John knew what her sigh spoke of, even if she didn't.

"You'll do fine, babe. Just fine. As you have been throughout this case. I love you, my lawyer lady. Be sure to take your own advice, and grab some breakfast to go."

He stood up and sealed his proclamation with a few tender kisses and nuzzles, and a stroke of her loose locks. A pretty mean feat, as Aaron wiggled and twisted in his other arm.

"You're messing up my make up," she said with a dreamy smile.

"Mm hmm. Yeah, that's kind of my job, as your husband. I take it very seriously," John said, with a smirk.

"And you're so good at it, too," she sighed softly again, this time for an entirely different reason. "I love you, too. I love you so much. And I will be home tonight for dinner. I promise."

##

The day moved along at a dizzying pace, and Joss indeed had begun to feel as if this trial, for which she'd taken on a consulting role initially, was more hers than it wasn't. It wasn't as if her former partner was shirking his responsibility to his client, nothing like that. It was just that the case had so many twists and turns for said client, and the judge assigned to it was a known hard ass who expected precision and perfection on all matters, right down to the paper their motions were filed on. Witnesses were found to have conflicts of interest, evidence needed for the trial was held up, and Henderson Shaw was hammered by the defense on cross-examination. All this, and more, had made Joss' day much longer than she'd wanted it to be—and this trial was not the only one she'd been called upon to lend an assist with.

She was good at what she did. Damned good. But navigating minefields wasn't easy in war, police work, or in the courtroom. It wasn't her trial—but her reputation was tied to it almost as much as Joe Syzmansky's was. Protecting that was vital.

Her friend and his client needed to regroup, to come up with a stronger approach when the trial reconvened in a few days. Evidence. Joss would need to gently strong arm her old contacts and colleagues to make that easier. Just one of her responsibilities to Syzmansky in seeing this through.

But she was determined to keep it all in perspective. When she finally got a break at the office, around 4:30 that day, she made a quick phone call home.

"Hi, sweetie," John answered on the other end. She could hear CeeCee laughing in the background, probably at something her brothers were doing to entertain her. Taylor could also be heard in the background. Good. He was home early from school.

"Hi. How's everybody doing? How was the field trip?"

"Umm, we're okay, I guess. Nothing's broken, nothing's blown up. Aaron had a good time at the farm, as did I. Weather was perfect."

"Yes, I thought of you guys this morning, after I called Mom to check on CeeCee. I'm so glad it worked out."

"We should take our own trip to Salisbury Farm some time soon. Maybe just the two of us. I think you'd love the hayride. And the foliage is beautiful. I picked up some fresh corn, apples, and a couple apple pies, along with a jug of cider for the house."

"Oh, yum, John! Love the farmstand corn. How else did it go?"

"Well, the kids got treated to mini doughnuts for snack. For the next five minutes, at least, they were the quietest group of toddlers you ever saw," John said, laughing.

"Mmm, that sounds good, a day trip up there. I think I could do with one. Did our little boo nut behave himself? Did he keep his jacket on?" Joss asked with a grin.

"Oh, sure he did. Though I had to explain to him that it was okay if little Joey Bronson was Daddy's partner on the trip, too, since his daddy couldn't be there. He wanted me all to himself," John said, laughing again in kind.

"Well, I can understand that," Joss returned in a playful voice. "I kind of like having you all to myself too. Well, at least up to a point."

"I appreciate that, Councilor. You on your way home?"

Joss let go of a heavy sigh. "No, not yet. Still a little bit more work to wrap up, not sure when that will change, exactly. I wanted to be home in time to cook for you and the kids, but I don't know..."

"Well, Joss, if you need to skip us for tonight, that's okay. I can feed the kids. In fact, I think it's about time for one of CeeCee's bottle mixes. Thanks for pumping beforehand."

"Yeah, I can hear her getting fussy back there. Taylor started his homework?"

"Letting him hold off for now. He's off to play a pick up game with Curtis and the boys soon."

"John, make sure you give his work a look. Our son is bright and does well, but he gets lazy sometimes, you know that. Everything can't be completed in homeroom before class, especially with the tough course load he's carrying this year. But we know he tries it."

"Gotcha. I'm on it. But after the pick up game. A boy needs to spend time with his friends, babe."

"Yeah, you're right. Hey, I gotta go. I will try my darndest to be home for supper as soon as I can. Can you give me a couple more hours?"

"Sure, babe. We'll be here."

"I'll pick up a chicken bucket combo from Roscoe's. How's that sound? No slaving over a hot stove. Mix of plain and spicy? Mashed potatoes and slaw? Would go nicely with some of that apple pie you got."

"We'll be here, babe," John repeated, his soft lilt resting on a matter-of-fact sigh. The sound of his voice over the phone was always a comfort to her, always a sign of his dependability and steadfast devotion to their family. He was her rock. And she couldn't do any of this without him.

"I know. You always are. I love you. Kiss our babies for me?"

"Of course," John said. "I love you, too. See you soon."

##

At around 8:30 that evening, an exhausted Joss Reese pulled her Escalade SUV up in front of her brownstone. And it was only then that she realized she'd forgotten all about her promised stop to Roscoe's for the family chicken combo bucket, so determined to get through the snarl that was Manhattan traffic on her way to Brooklyn. She sighed. Not wanting to slog through that again, she put a raincheck on Roscoe's and resigned herself to one of the packaged spaghetti dinners in the freezer and a glass of much needed wine. She'd be sure to play the game and at least put the plastic meal on a proper ceramic plate.

It was just as well at that point. As she'd be eating alone, surely, the wine in front of the kids wouldn't be a problem. Daddy would have put little CeeCee down to sleep already, and Aaron would've been bathed and on his way to bed that moment. Taylor should have been busy at work on his assignments, ball game or not. And of course, John had fed the children by then.

Yes, a quick frozen meal and a tall glass. Then, a little quality time with her husband, a check on the kids, and bed. No emails, no briefs. The trial had a few days. She would resume the fight the next day.

Upon dragging her heels and work bags up the steps and turning the lock, her tired eyes suddenly widened at what she saw.

There was, set up in the living room, the pull out table they used for camping trips. And it had been set with three places. Next to it, Aaron's high chair, also set for his particular place. There were dishes, bowls, glasses, and silverware, atop a rather tasteful red table cloth that read: WELCOME HOME in the Christmas stencils she recognized from the holidays before last. At her place, a card rested on top of the plate, with her name, along with a single red rose.

Soon, John emerged from the kitchen, holding a pan of fried chicken in one hand, and a bowl of mashed potatoes in the other. Taylor, her handsome son, followed, carrying biscuits and slaw. They each set the dishes on the table before returning to gather beverages, the bowl of farmstand corn John had gotten earlier, and condiments.

She stood there, half exhausted, half stunned—yet suddenly all famished. And in all that, her heart found a way to laugh in love at her men.

But that wasn't all. Her boo nut, Aaron, emerged from the kitchen too, clad in his onesie Super Dog pajamas, excited in his running, eager in his smile, towards her.

"Mahmeeeeee! Mahmeeeee! Yoo at hoooooom!" he said, his arms outstretched.

Joss tossed her briefcase and bent down to pick up her sweet son. He smelled of the bath she knew his father had given him, and she squeezed and kissed him as she never had before.

"Uh huh. Mommy's home, baby! What are you still doing up? Huh? Oh, I missed you, my baby..."

"We were gettin' hungry," John said, his eyes twinkling, his hands on his jean clad hips, the most handsome man in the world. "So we called down to Roscoe's. They said no order had been placed by a Jocelyn Reese for take out. Instead, we decided to make our own Roscoe's. But no eating until you got here. And Aaron didn't want to go to bed without Mommy. So, here you go. I hope you're hungry, too."

"Oh, God, I'm starving. And I'm sorry, you guys. I did forget to stop at Roscoe's. I'm a horrible wife and mother," she said, between kisses and tickles. Aaron had wrapped his whole little body around his mother's.

"Never," John said, picking up a stuffed toy to toss it in the playpen. "Besides, we got it covered. No harm, no foul, babe."

"Come on, Ma. Let's eat. Welcome home, just like the tablecloth says," Taylor chimed in.

"Well, with an invite like that, how can I refuse? Thank you. Thank you so much for this."

"We got you, Ma. We got you," Taylor said with a wink and a kiss to his mother's cheek.

They sat to eat. After a dinner where Joss was forbidden to talk about work, they enjoyed some of the farm fresh pie—but Joss didn't get to finish her piece, as Aaron, having stayed up way past his bedtime, fell asleep in her lap.

Putting him to bed. Checking up on his sister. Looking over Taylor's homework and preparing his and Aaron's school lunches for the next day. John had offered to do all that, and more—but Joss had insisted on doing those tasks herself. They balanced her out, grounded her, reminded her of what she had been working so hard for. Her children. The example she was setting as a returning professional was one she wanted her children to appreciate and be inspired by as they grew older.

And when all that was said and done, she had that glass of wine. But it wasn't a singular glass. For John had joined her in the living room when all was quiet, all peaceful. They drank a toast to her and her juggling of it all. Then, as Joss decided to playfully straddle him, they kissed and embraced while holding their glasses, the shadows of passion they would soon fulfill, at some other less hectic time, making themselves clearly known.

Changed out of her worksuit and into jeans and a tee-shirt, her loose hair now in a ponytail, she soon settled down on his lap in front of the TV sitcom channel, his loving caresses sending her to a near-slumber of her own not long after.

"Welcome home," he said after a quick sip of the wine. "You know, I am proud of my bad ass lawyer wife...but I'm glad you're here with me again, too. The day is complete," he murmured, looking down at her, his gaze filled with a relaxed passion that only she understood.

"The kids too much for you still, huh, John?" she teased, looking up at him.

"Ehh...no comment," he said, rolling his eyes and smirking in reply. That got him a guffaw and a chin kiss from his very tickled wife, who had to put her glass down lest she spilled over them both.

Her family. Her husband. Her rock. So long as she had them, she could handle anything. She loved her new job, even if she didn't always like it—but it sure was good to be home.

"Mmm,"she murmured as John picked her up and carried her to bed within minutes. In her dreams, she smiled when she heard him command Bear to sleep outside their room, the beloved pooch barking once in understanding.

Yes, it was certainly good to be home.

 **A/N: Joss returns to the fold as a working wife and mother. A lovely gesture on behalf of her family to remind her how important she is to them. A very lucky woman, she is! Hope you all enjoyed this one. I've taken on larger duties at my work, so I'm not sure how often I can update this and other stories, but do stay tuned, as they will get continued somehow. Bless you all for reading and commenting!**


	15. Tis The Season

**A/N: Happy holidays, everyone! Here's a shot for the season that we're in. Family, love, excitement, dirty diapers (of course, with two babies), food, friends, faith, and more. It's a Careese Christmas!**

 **Careese Shot No. 15: 'Tis the Season**

As a gentle snow fell over New York City, the lights of Christmas twinkled and shone brightly inside the meeting house of First AME Church of God in Brooklyn. In the balcony, the choir sang they hymns of Christmas, while the faithful in the pews nodded their heads and dipped their eyes into hymnal books, their own voices joining the choir in song. Among those in attendance was the Carter-Reese family, this year including an extra participant than last, in that little CeeCee was now there to join in the celebration.

Since her birth, their family had only given John and Joss more joy in their lives, and along with her big brothers Taylor and Aaron, they had all they had all they could handle at home, while never having been happier. Their children were thriving, both Joss and John had new branches of their careers to explore, and they had a wonderful circle of friends, including their old associates from Team Machine, who added much to the rich life they'd built for themselves. They had been very blessed this year in so many ways, and so they both thought it appropriate to be present on Christmas Day to say a prayer for their good fortune, and to share in the community spirit in the celebration of Christmas.

Aaron, for his part, was doing his best to clap and hum along with the choir, when he remembered not to wiggle and climb out of his pew seat, or not to interrupt the pastor with a "Noooooo, Mahmeee!"during the sermon, or during the silent prayer, as his mother tried to keep him from flipping onto the lap of the elderly lady behind them. He and CeeCee were certainly not the only young children present at the service—but Aaron was one of the loudest, making his presence known by pointing at and commenting on the Christmas tree, the ceiling lights, and anything else that caught his fancy. And CeeCee,while quite taken by all the visual stimulation of the meeting house décor, as well as the ooohs and ahhs of those who came to see her in her father's arms, was having her moments, too. She got so fussy at one point that it was necessary for John, dressed in a tailored black suit and silk tie, to take his baby girl out into the foyer for several minutes until she calmed down.

His movement up the aisle caught many an eye, both male and female, and he chuckled to himself as he felt the eyes of the congregation upon him, as was always the case when the family found itself in that particular house of worship. He would have thought they'd have been used to him by then, even if they weren't in attendance each week. All the same, it was necessary to bring his daughter out of the pews, lest they be thrown out, he thought. A bottle and nap weren't far behind—for either of their children.

Taylor sat on the opposite side of his mother, dressed in dress casual finery, and joined in helping her trying to contain his brother by making funny faces or giving him crayons and note paper to scribble on. Sitting beside him, while trying to slow her chuckles at Aaron's antics, was Destiny, who had been invited to spend Christmas with them, as her parents had been going through a rough patch, and she had no other relatives in the immediate area. Taylor had hesitantly broached the subject of Destiny having Christmas with them weeks before, explaining to his parents her situation. His trepidation was unfounded, of course; both John and Joss were proud of him for stepping up to help a friend in need. A place had been set at their dining room table for her, and they even thought to leave a few gifts under the tree with her name on them.

One person who would not be able to join them that year was Grandma Corinne. While she had supplied her daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren with their presents, she had been under the weather, the flu bug keeping her bed bound and unable to take part in Christmas celebrations. They were all very sad for this turn of events, but all agreed that it was best for Corinne to get her rest and get better. John and Joss had gone over to her home the day before to spend Christmas Eve with her, collect gifts, and to make sure she had everything she needed in their absence.

Perhaps, she'd be better for New Year's Eve, when the family was expected to partake in local fireworks at Bentley Park, just before leaving for their first family vacation outside of New York. Yes, John had arranged to have the family spend a holiday week, after the holidays, in Florida, at Busch Gardens in Tampa. Taylor and Joss had been over the moon when he'd booked the flights and hotel, and John had to admit that he, too, was looking forward to getting his family out of New York for a few days. But until then, there were presents to open, football to watch, dinner to host, and family time to be had, on the ground.

As the Christmas service continued, John continued to pace back and forth with Cedillia, her binky now in her mouth as she indeed began to settle her fussiness, her daddy's strong arms often the only thing needed to do the trick in getting her to quiet down. She was then content to peer at the sexton, who waved and made silly faces at her, and then the stained glass of the outer windows, until she caught her daddy's eye, which caused her no end of silly giggles and happy coos.

"There's my baby girl. There she is," he said, over the chuch proceedings. "We ready to go nap-nap? Hmm? You know, I think somebody's sleepy. But, as usual," he murmured against her chubby little cheek before making kisses against her skin, "you're a little nosy butt, and you think you're gonna miss something. So I shouldn't bet on you going to sleep. That's okay. It's Christmas. Christmas Day, and Santa's been waiting to see you all year. My precious little girl. Love you...love you..." He repeated the phrase in a gentle litany, as CeeCee responded, and grinned in kind each time he said it, her small cut teeth nubs from her bottom gums.

"Baaaaa...daaaaa...mmmm.." CeeCee said in reply before rocking back and forth and squealing in delight.

"Mm hmm. I bet somebody's very excited, too, even if all this Christmas stuff may be a little over your head just now. But it's all very nice, isn't it, baby? Everyone is so good to one another at Christmas. I sure wish this kind of thing lasted all year, though."

CeeCee didn't know what her daddy was saying, exactly, but she was very happy to respond to him all the same.

"Gooommgaaabaaaaa..." she replied with her binky still in her mouth—before it fell to the carpeted floor of the foyer. John bent down to pick it up, and placed it in his pocket. And for his trouble, he got a light rap on his nose. But she didn't cry. She merely looked around some more, her big mommy eyes wide and bright, while grabbing at Daddy's collar with her little hands.

"Yes! Everybody should be good to each other all year, just like at Christmas. All the perps Daddy had to tie up over the years would have found other, better things to do. And maybe Daddy could have been in a different line of work now. Aww, come here, sweetie. Let's look at this over here. See this? See this picture?" A change of subject was in order. No shop talk allowed that day.

John took CeeCee over to the stained glass windows to see the image of Christ and the angels. She was very interested, deep colors and shadows providing her much sensory stimulation. The sexton, no longer able to contain his attraction to the father and daughter, came over to speak with both of them.

Yes, her fussy mood was now gone, for the time being. However, she was being chatty—which would still be a disruption for the pastor.

John grinned at her before burying his nose into her loose, sweetly-scented curly hair as he spoke with the sexton. Dressed in a red and green Christmas dress and red stockings without shoes, Cedillia was all ready for whatever magic the special day had to bring. And her parents were only too happy to help Santa bring it to her and her siblings.

##

At the conclusion of the service, there was a Christmas lunch for all in attendance in the downstairs dining hall. In addition to various dishes and desserts, there were small gifts and stockings for the children, which included packets of Christmas candies, oranges, apples or pears. Aaron was delighted to get his gift and candy stocking, though Joss was quick to make sure that any of the candies included were ones he could actually eat, giving to Taylor the ones he couldn't. She found a small Kit Kat for him to try, which he was most happy to munch on while they waited for their table to be called for service, his little mouth and fingers soon covered in chocolate.

"John, hand me the diaper bag?" she asked of him for wipes to clean Aaron, not wanting his little suit and shoes to get messy. They sat at one of the reception tables with two other families from the community, one with a four-year-old son, a rather shy boy who was also enjoying a treat from his candy stocking. Aaron, sweet boy that he was, waved to the other child, who waved in kind. Joss also waved, and soon the family opposite them struck up a conversation, which, by the end of the festivities, resulted in the exchange of emails, and a promise of further communication. Who knew? Perhaps Aaron and the other boy would have some playdates soon? They were actually rather local, and even if the boy was a little older than Aaron, he could more than hold his own on a playground at that point, with close supervision, of course.

That they'd made new connections now was a much more common thing, and John, through his children, was getting to know people in ways he never thought he could in his life as a shadowy vigilante. Before, it was get them out of danger or wrap them up for the police to pick up and then, on to the next job, the next life to be saved. It had taken him a long while to subvert the instinct to see people as victims or perpetrators, to allow himself to be one of the main characters in his own life. But through parenthood, this was more possible every day. He liked it. He liked it very much. It was just one more way he realized how much of real living, with a different kind of purpose than the one he'd had, that he'd missed out on.

But that was over. For the most part, at least. He still had that desire to help others in that way he knew best. So, Joss, seeing how much that still tugged at his conscience, had relented a little in her insistence that he hang it all up and be more of a father and husband for their family. Once the new year got underway, he and Finch would embark on a new business venture, a security firm that operated in the shadows, but which recruited some of the best and brightest in his field, from all corners of the world, to do what he used to do—with him pulling the strings from afar, of course. This way he could keep his family close, while still having a pulse on making the world a better place. There would be some time and travel away from his wife and kids—but nothing like the old pace of vigilantism. This would work on a need-only basis.

Soon, their table was called and John went to get plates for Aaron and Taylor, while Joss took hold of CeeCee and got her bottle ready. She'd be able to have a few nibbles from Mommy's plate afterward. John then took care of plates for Destiny, himself and her. Meanwhile, Taylor took pictures of his siblings with his camera phone, including a few with Destiny. Further singing broke out as the choir master called for a few rounds of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" from the piano. Applause and 'praise God" rang out as the singing continued. Spirits were high. None higher, however, than those of the family Reese.

##

"Mahmeee? I do poopie in pu'yup. Mahmeee.."

Joss looked down at her big baby boy, standing there in his church clothes. She smiled warmly, while wrinkling her nose. "Yes, boo nut. I know. I can tell. Come upstairs with me, so Mommy can change you."

But instead of coming along as she asked, once they'd gotten back home, Aaron stood there on their hardwood of the living room floor, and began to cry.

"What? What's wrong, Aaron?"

"I do poooppeeeee...I do...I do poopeeeeeeee...!" he cried, his eyes spilling tears, his face turning red.

"That's okay, honey!" Joss pleaded with him gently. "Come on upstairs, and Mommy's gonna change you. It's okay..."

"Nooooowwwooowwwooowwww..." he continued to cry, with full on hysterics, before flouncing to the floor, whatever mess was going on in his pants only more so now with said flounce.

Joss knew what his problem was. As a toddler, he was still new to this whole Santa thing—but he had somehow picked up on the "being good" part of the story, after having had his and CeeCee's picture taken with Santa at the Galleria, and talks about Santa with Daddy and Taylor. And while his parents had been trying to lay off little in their encouragement of him to poop in his potty, he knew a little bit of the difference between being able to urinate there and being able to poop there. And now, he'd pooped his pull up again. Definitely not something that Santa would think him a good boy for, at least in his mind.

"Oh, poor Aaron," Destiny said from behind.

"He's okay," Taylor said. "He's still trying to figure out how this whole bathroom thing works. Must be tough at that age. But yeah, he's okay."

"Come here, Aaron. We're gonna go get changed, then see what Santa brought you. Come on, baby.."

Joss knew her toddler well, and that he'd need the reassurance of her embrace upstairs, as much as he needed his pull up changed. He wouldn't come to her, still sitting there crying his eyes out. So she had to sing a little Christmas song to encourage him.

"Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, had a very shiny nose..."

As she continued and put her arms out, he got up and toddled over to her, hopped into her embrace, and together, they went upstairs, Aaron's head laying down on her shoulder.

"Well, that's that!" Taylor said. Turning toward the kitchen, he called to John, "Hey, Pop, you need any help with anything?"

"Uhh, yes, Taylor, thank you. Can you make sure the dining room place settings are all good? Lionel, Lee, and Harold will be here in about an hour or so. Turkey's nearly ready."

"Got it, Pop." Taylor said, motioning to Destiny to have a seat on the couch. She had taken on entertaining CeeCee, who was now, finally, drifting off to sleep for her nap.

Once Aaron was cleaned up, Joss returned with him and the family took the time to open their gifts. Taylor was well pleased with his new computer, beginner skis, and cologne. Destiny was thrilled to receive a new wool scarf from Joss, a leather satchel from John, and a friendship pendant from Taylor. She in turn got him a New York Giants tee, and a selfie stick. For John, there were two new silk ties and a leather work bag from Taylor and Corinne. For his mother, Taylor had gotten a pair of silver hoop earrings and a nice blue cotton sweater.

Of course, the little ones racked up much loot. CeeCee got her first Powder Puff trike, which she'd be able to ride in a few months. With his parents' help, Aaron discovered that he got his first big boy bike with trainers, which he, too, would be able to ride in a few months. There were Legos, art sets, sleds, new boots, story books, socks, shorts and tee sets for Florida, new baby bottles, matching snow suits, stuffed animals, gift cards, a soccer ball, and from Grandma Corinne, a swing set. Aaron was content to tear paper, just as he had the year before, while CeeCee slept contentedly on Destiny's shoulder. Bear, for his part, stayed on his mat as he sniffed and nibbled at his present, a new set of doggie bones.

John and Joss exchanged one gift with one another, the trip to Florida enough for her. The large, shiny wrapped box with his name on it, dragged from behind the tree with a giggle, caused a questioning twinkle to appear in his eye. Aaron was eager to help Daddy open it, and so he was allowed to do so.

"Joss? What did you do?" John asked slyly, the smirk out in full force.

"Mmmm, I don't know," she replied innocently. "Why don't open it up and see? If you don't, your son will!"

"Wan' oh-pen, Dahdee! Oh-pen pwessen'!" Aaron exclaimed, while digging his little fingers into the paper.

'Well, I guess I better open it! Hmm, what could be in here? Let's just see now..."

With Aaron's help, they soon found out what it was that Mommy had gotten Daddy, and John threw his head back, bursting into laughter. It was his turn to jump up and down in excitement and happiness; instead, he gave the family a hearty fist pump.

"Yeeeaaaay!" he laughed. "Ohhh, this is good, babe. This is very good!"

Joss beamed. "You like it? I tried to remember the kind you told me you had when you were growing up."

"Like it? I love it! Thank you so much! All right! This is great!"

"I helped pick out the color," Taylor said from the couch. Destiny beamed along with him, while still holding a sleeping CeeCee.

What John got was his very own electric guitar and amplifier, the guitar a beautiful blue and gold Epiphone model, complete with amp chord, picks, and gig bag. He had indeed been something of a budding rock musician when he was a boy, but when the military came a calling, he put such notions on the shelf. Joss had remembered him mentioning the teen bands he'd been in, and so she wanted to get him back to what he loved. It might take him some time, as he was rusty, but it was never too late to find his way back to it.

And he was like a kid again, both he and Aaron getting down on the floor to take apart the boxes and packing material, as much as Aaron could do that without knocking himself or his father over, to release the instrument and try it out a little. It was a unique experience for Aaron to touch the strings and hear the sounds they made. And that was before Daddy plugged it in.

"I'm glad you like it, John. Merry Christmas," Joss said, now with a cup of hot chocolate in her hand.

"Yeah, it's really neat, Mr. Reese," Destiny said from the couch.

"I love it, babe. Thank you. You know, you're too good for me," John said from the floor. As the lights twinkled from the tree, he reached up his face to give his wife a kiss, the twang of the guitar making noises as Aaron played with it. The love and appreciation in his eyes were undeniable. Joss knew she'd done right that Christmas.

"That's right. And don't you forget it," she said, winking.

##

Within the next few hours, their dinner guests arrived and all was ready for the holiday meal. There were more gifts for the children from Uncle Harold and Uncle Lionel, and there were even a few things sent over from the 8th Precinct and Zoe Morgan. Joss side eyed Zoe's gift, a box of fancy chocolates, but John playfully reminded her to be gracious in the face of Zoe's thought.

The babies in their high chairs, the teens seated across from one another, Lionel and Harold the same, while John took his rightful place at the head of the table as their head of their family. A simple blessing was said, while both Harold and Lionel both gave each other a glance at seeing John Reese doing anything remotely spiritual, and then dinner was served. Much laughter, good talk, and good cheer was had by all. And Bear sat himself in a prime spot on the floor to catch as much turkey as he could manage.

After supper, John couldn't resist showing Lionel his new toy, and in plugging in and tuning up, John remembered the chords to one of his favorites of classic rock, "Blue Moon." He was indeed rusty, as the amp squawked reverb, much to Aaron's delight, but he made it through. Harold, with a mock alarm, raised his glass in toast to that night's entertainment. The next number, a riff on Chuck Berry, saw Aaron be let out of his high chair, to laugh and dance the evening away, while Taylor rolled the video on his phone, and Joss snapped photos.

##

Later, that evening, after all the guests had gone and their mother had put two very sleepy children to bed for the night, John gave Destiny a lift home, dropping her at her apartment with a hearty thanks for the impromptu baby sitting during church. Once he made it back home, he decided to change out of his holiday wear into jeans, tee shirt, boots, and leather jacket to give Bear a walk in the light flurries that still fell.

When he returned, he grabbed a quick shower before bed, the only desire he had was to lie next to Joss after their long and busy day. Drying his hair with a towel, he closed the door behind him only to find her lying there, well into bed, wide awake. Her face was freshly scrubbed, her hair loosely tied, her beautiful body, formerly clothed in a simple black dress with a holly print pattern at the bottom, naked and lotioned, soft and supple.

"Mmm, well hello, Mrs. Claus," he purred upon the realization that she wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing under their blankets, the hint of leg, thigh, and bare shoulder undeniable. Likewise, all he sported was a towel. He smelled clean, of soap, shampoo, and toothpaste, his hair messy and damp from the spray.

The night was young. Christmas was a day for love. No reason why that love couldn't include that of the erotic kind. He stood and took her in, his green eyes now full of the hottest desire.

"Hello, Santa. Can I give you another gift?" she purred in kind, her fingers finding her nipples to tantalize him.

"Ohhh, I don't know, babe. I think it may be my turn to give you one. Whaddya say?"

"I'd say," Joss whispered seductively as she slipped a finger into her mouth and then beckoned him with it, "I've been a very good girl."

"Oh, yes," he replied, the octave of his voice two levels lower than usual, his eyes now narrow slits. "Yes, you have. But I bet you can be even better. Can't you, little girl?"

Lifting the covers, she used that same finger to beckon him again, his arousal unmistakeble under the towel.

"Oh, Santa, why don't you come here and find out?"

John moved with the stealth of a cheetah and as he climbed into the bed to pounce, the towel flew across the room. Joss giggled and then squealed as Santa delivered on his promise. The thud and creak of their bed, the slapping of flesh, and the breathless moan from Joss' throat as he climbed atop her sounded outside the bedroom door. Bear, ever the faithful guard dog started at the two sounds, but soon realized, in his canine way, that the subsequent sounds were ones he'd heard more than once before.

"Merry Christmas, babe..oh, yeah, you're such a good girl...oh...Jesus...ahhhh...that's what Santa needs...mmm..."

"Mmm, I love you, Santa. Merry Christmas. Merry...ooohmmm...aaaaahh..."

All was perfect. All was bright. Bear slowly put his head back down to rest while his masters found their bliss in each others' bodies, their commitment to one another in each others' eyes and lips. The bed continued to creak and thump, and soon their intermingling taps, moans and love voices, though muted, were loud enough for Bear's ears. But that was okay. So long as the children, including Taylor, continued to sleep like stones, it was all good. It was Mommy and Daddy's time—and they intended to make the most of it.

Onward to the new year they would soar—and to those sunny Floridian skies, of course.

 **A/N: A longer shot than I usually do, but the scenario in my head called for it, so here we are. So John and Joss were less knocked out by Christmas and all the excitement than their kids were, only to come up with a little night time excitement of their own. Woohoo! I can dig that!**

 ****Destiny originally appears in "The Arrangement," for those of you who may not have read that one (in progress).**

 **Best wishes to everyone for a happy new year, and if I can't quite do an update on other stories before then, see you in 2018!**


	16. The Little Mouse

**A/N: In this shot, John teaches his son about respecting the creatures that live amongst us. Enjoy!**

Shot No. 16: The Little Mouse

On a cool and rainy spring day, and with an third load of laundry needing to go into the washer, John Reese was forced to make a deal with his toddler son, who was being somewhat clingy and _very_ grumpy, and who at the present time was attached to his father's leg like a squawking barnacle. While John didn't really mind Aaron hanging on to him and showing out a little for attention as a rule, on that day there was much to be done around the house—laundry loads for three kids and two adults being the least of that – and his son's behavior was definitely getting in the way of it happening.

"Dahdee! I wan' pway! I wan' pwaaaaaayyyy," he whined, his little baby feet clad in Doogie Dogg socks stomping the hardwood floor—and himself into a full blown tantrum.

"Aaron, Daddy needs for you to let his leg go now," John said, somewhat sternly, yet fruitlessly, as he looked down at his son in the midst of his theatrics. When Aaron got into one of his tantrums, it could be hard to talk him out of it, even with stern voice. And it was Joss who never had any problems depositing him right on his bottom into his playpen when she needed a break from it all, his howling be darned. But John was different. While he wasn't exactly the pushover father, it just wasn't his way to redirect his boy in that fashion.

He was rapidly reconsidering that philosophy, however, now that the child had gotten it into his mind to strike his daddy on the legs repeatedly while he screamed and butted his head on John's thighs.

"Aaron! No! You know Daddy doesn't like that. We don't hit. Stop it," John warned even more sternly. Aaron heard not a word of that, his stomping and crying only growing louder. It wasn't nap time because he'd had that, and he wasn't hungry because he'd been fed a meal of his favorite chopped hot dogs, beans, and salad, which he devoured well. He wasn't coming down with anything, either. He really did need to get out and play, burn up some of that abundant toddler energy, but the rain that fell outside their brownstone would not allow it.

"Dahdeeeeee!" Aaron cried. "I wan' pwaaaaay! Wan' go wi' dahggggeeeee oww-side...Dahdeeeee..."

John had never wished for his wife to come home from running errands more than he had at that moment. It was just the two of them and the dog in the house—and if Aaron somehow managed to get Bear in on this, his father would lose his mind. At the moment, Joss and their daughter were at her pediatrician's check up, while Taylor was spending time at Destiny's house working on a school project. Laundry day wasn't usually an issue; Aaron was just being his sometimes difficult two-year-old self.

Suddenly, John got an idea. The empty laundry basket sat near the cellar door.

"Aaron, come here, son. Come here. Come on, we're gonna go play."

"We go pwaaay?" he asked through his whine, the tears spilling fat from his little brown eyes. He was flushed in the face, and his nose ran profusely.

"Yeah, little buddy. Come. Let Daddy clean your face first, okay? You stop crying, we go play. All right? But we can't play until you stop." His voice had suddenly gotten louder, perhaps in order to compete with his son's.

Those magic words seemed to do the trick, as Aaron's protests settled down into intermittent whimpers. He sat on the floor where he'd kicked and screamed, and rubbed his eyes and nose, spreading snot all over his face and a bit in his hair.

John shook his head and sighed.

"We okay now, Aaron?"

"'Kay," Aaron replied, a sob choked back in his voice.

The wipes administered to his hands and face, Aaron still whimpered a little as he sat on the floor. But he stopped crying completely when his father joined him, signalling to his boy to wrap his arms around him and climb on his back.

Piggyback rides were their thing. Aaron now knew for sure that the tide had turned, and he would get his wish.

He'd soon be helping his father with that big load of laundry that wouldn't get itself done in the basket.

##

It was a game of steps—as in upstairs to the clothes hampers to fill the basket, then downstairs to the living room, and then downstairs some more to the basement cellar to the laundry room. All of this movement was done with Aaron having the time of his life bouncing up and down on his father's back and shoulders, while Daddy humored him with the Truck Driver Song, including horn sound effects, growls for rumbling tires and the best 'beep-beeps' he could muster.

All the tears and protests were gone for the time being, as Aaron giggled sweetly in John's ear. He clung to his father like a koala to a tree, and John carefully descended the steps, the large basket to the front of him, his precious cargo to the back.

"Okay, here we go," John said, as he placed the large blue basket on the folding table set up across from the dual front loaders. The last load he'd put in was already done drying. Perfect timing.

"Aaron, you gonna help Daddy get the clothes, okay? Be my good little helper?"

"Yeeeah," he replied. "Iss da clows. Oh-pen, Dahdee. Oh-pen dawr."

"Okay, but you stay here, right next to me, Aaron. You hear me? Daddy needs you to stay right here."

If Aaron heard his father, he didn't say as much. He was far too taken by all the stuff in their cellar. Taylor's old bike with the flat tire that he never seemed to get around to getting fixed; the garden hose rolled and hanging on the wall; John's tools for fixing everything from loose screws to hubcaps; old boxes of books and a steamer trunk full of other treasures; some of Aaron's baby toys that Cedillia couldn't use; camping gear, a canoe, and other outdoor sports equipment. Hidden away inside another locked compartment was John's gun closet. All the weapons he'd employed in his work on the streets of New York, including his grenade collection and launcher were stored in that doubled bolted room. No one went there but him—the kids would never know what was in there. Taylor knew better than to even ask.

Aaron pointed to his old swing set. "Dahdee, I go on 'wing?"

"No, you're too big for it now. And I thought you were gonna help me with the clothes, son," his father replied, his hands spread wide. "Door's open."

Aaron's attention was now refocused on the dried clothing, and he went for removing the contents with gusto. It was fun to get one's little hands around a tee shirt or a pair of baby jeans and pull at them. Still in his stocking feet, a lock of hair fell over his forehead as he worked earnestly to get the jeans and whatever else he could grab to put in the basket. While he did that, his father loaded the washing machine and measured out detergent and softener before selecting the cycle. The machine dial turned with a loud cranking sound before the shoot of water began to fill the tub. Once he was done with that, he helped his boy get the rest of the clothes out of the dryer.

It was Aaron who noticed first.

"Dahdee? What dat, Dahdee?"

"What's what, honey?" John replied over the washer noise, as he bent down to pick up one of Joss' bras that had fallen to the floor from the dryer.

"I tee it! I tee it! Oh-dere!" he exclaimed as he jumped up and down excitedly and pointed, while his eyes scanned the floor across from them to see if he could see 'it' again.

"You see what?" his father asked puzzled, looking the same general direction.

Aaron repeated himself at least two more times before what it was he saw actually made itself known. It was a small brown spot that passed in the blink of an eye—but ithat spot was unmistakeably a mouse.

"Uh huh," John said quietly. "Looks like we have a little freeloader taking up residence down here. That's a mouse, Aaron."

Aaron looked up at his daddy, a questioning gaze on his face. "A mou-zee, Dahdee?"

"Yep, looks like it, Aaron. Now, I want you stay right here with Daddy, okay? Leave mousie alone."

" 'Kay," he agreed. But his interest in the laundry had completely vanished. He was now on the lookout for the mysterious little creature that had darted across the floor and was being shy, it having found some equally mysterious locale within their belongings in which to hide instead.

The long winter would have made their cellar an inviting place for any creature trying to find shelter from the elements. But John knew well that a mouse in a lower level space seldom stayed there. And if there was one thing he couldn't have around his children, it was a mouse, no matter how cute or tiny it might have been. One mouse made lots of other mice.

He would have to rig a trap for the little bugger, and do a thorough check to make sure there were no others within that space.

And rig a trap he did. Once the laundry was settled in, John piggybacked Aaron upstairs again, and set him down with his lego blocks. By that point, the tantrum had completely vanished for the time being, though his little guy was still a well spring of energy. Heading to the kitchen, John washed his hands and fixed Aaron a small snack of peanut butter on two graham crackers and an apple sauce pouch before taking the peanut butter, and a large, wooden cigar box with a snap lid out of the kitchen cupboard under the sink. Adding a good sized dollop of peanut butter to the box, he also was able to rig a contraption to the lid that would close the box if it were jarred with even the slightest movement to its interior.

Once Aaron got his snack plate and made short work of it on the carpet, they piggybacked down to the cellar yet again to put Operation Catch Mouse in action, John being careful to handle the makeshift trap delicately. With any luck, the little bugger wouldn't be able to resist a free offering, and they'd stop him in his tracks soon.

##

"Shhh, Aaron," John whispered to him. "We have to be quiet. If we aren't, mousie will be too scared to come out so we can catch him."

"'Kay, Dahdee," Aaron whispered back. "Where mou-zee? He oh-dere?"

"Well," John whispered. "I don't know. We left him the snack, so if he's hungry, he'll come get it. Hey, let's go back upstairs and we'll play Superman, okay?"

"'Kay! Mou-zee come, too."

John grinned. "No, son, he's probably going to be too busy down here. Come on."

##

A few hours later, Joss returned home with baby CeeCee. Good news was that their little girl was as healthy as a fiddle, growing bigger and stronger each day. Bad news was that Joss found out that there was a rodent, at least one they knew of, living in their cellar.

"Oh, no, John! Jesus, we can't have that in here! Did you call the exterminator?"

John chuckled at her reaction. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she'd go downstairs and unbolt his weapons closet to go after the poor mite herself.

"Whoo, Momma," he said. "Relax now; I set a peanut butter trap for it, which I'll be checking in a minute. And later I'll pull some things out to see where the access point could be. Maybe we oughta have a garage sale anyway. Taylor ever gonna ride that old bike of his again?"

Joss shuddered. "I don't know. Maybe that's a good idea. In the meantime, I just hope you're about trapping it. With peanut butter though?"

"Oh yeah. Mice love peanut butter. Most humane way I could think of to catch him."

She laughed. "Oh, and just how do you know this, Mr. Vigilante?"

He smirked. "The Army teaches you a lot of things, Detective. You know that as well as I do."

"I never learned about rodent control! Eeew!"

"Well, lucky for you, I did," he smiled back.

"I heard something squeaking down there a few weeks ago, but I thought it was just the pipes! Oh, John, please get that thing out of my house!"

John couldn't help it. He laughed soundly at his wife, who rolled her eyes and playfully swat him one for the trouble. Putting his hands up, he plead his case.

"Baby, it's just a little mouse. Look at you! You stared down HR and death from all comers as a cop, and you're really freaked out over a little mouse. Wait until I tell Lionel."

"Just get that thing out of our house, John. I don't care who you tell."

"Yes, dear. On my way now." He was still laughing as he descended the cellar stairs. Aaron wanted to go too, but his mother held him back. Nevermind that it was his sleuthing that told them they had this visitor in the first place.

##

Upon hearing that very same squeaking, John knew that he'd struck paydirt. The lure of the peanut butter was too strong to ignore, and instead of the mouse chewing his way out of the wooden box, he had decided to stay and feast on the offering inside.

"All right, fella. Time for you to come into the light, where you belong."

From there, he carefully picked up the box, got a steel mesh pouch to place it in, tied it up, and brought it back upstairs. Aaron was excited to know if Daddy had caught the mouse, and when he told him he had, the boy was adamant about being able to see it for himself.

"Oh no," Joss said, wrinkling her nose. "Daddy's not showing anything. Daddy's taking that mouse out of this house. Oooh, that you even brought that up here. I hear it squeaking, ugh!"

"Joss, it's in a box, in a bag. Come on, stop it. It won't get out. I'll drive him to the park and let him go. Aaron can come with me."

"That sounds good. Just get it out of my house," she repeated. Baby CeeCee sat in her high chair, smiling and clapping at whatever it was her parents and brother were on about.

"Mmmm, mean Momma. You hear how mean your momma's being?" John teased, with a smirk.

"I don't care. I'm just being real. Now we'll have to wonder about the walls and plumbing. Ughh, God!"

"I know. But hey, listen...can the intrepid mouse hunter get a kiss here? You got back and we missed that part. We may have a harrowing mission ahead of us. I'll need the inspiration to carry on."

Joss winked and puckered her lips. "Well, since you put it that way, I guess I could spare a smoochie or two."

And so, she did, her lips at first brushing softly across his own, until the kiss deepened ever so slightly.

He parted with a sigh. "Because I love you, I'll do it for you, baby. Aaron and me both. That mousie won't know what hit him."

"Good. Now. Get. It. Out. Of. Here. Right now!"

John licked his lips and called to his son, who was busy telling his baby sister all about their big adventure in the cellar.

"Aaron, go find your rain coat on the hook, son. Looks like you'll get outside today after all."

##

Bentley Park was a good place to let the mousie go. It's trees, low hills, and grasses, wet from the rain, would hide the creature from predators, perhaps, for the time being. As John bent down next to his son with the box, he carefully opened the sack and merely left it there. The mouse could be heard squeaking and scratching all the way on the ride over; John knew it would be just a matter of time before it indeed chewed its way out, so he'd be okay. They had also stopped at the park's refreshment stand and bought a small packet of unsalted seeds to leave behind with him.

Aaron, for his part, forgot about the mouse for a little bit, and took advantage of being outdoors, finally, his red rainboots finding puddles to jump in and mud to squish. The rain of earlier had slowed, so John surmised that it was okay to let his boy have a chance to run and dash about. He just hoped Aaron wouldn't fall in said mud because he hadn't brought him a change of clothes for this excursion. John had considered taking Bear on this trip as well, but then thought better of it. When he and Aaron got loose, it wasn't always the easiest thing in the world to reign them back in again. And Joss wouldn't let _him_ back into the house without a bath first.

Suddenly, Aaron stopped and pointed, as he had in the cellar.

"Dahdee, look! Mou-zee out! He gon' bye-bye!"

Sure enough, the mouse had managed to chew through just enough of the box to slip through and free himself, the waiting woods there to receive him. A little of the peanut butter was visible on his paws.

"Yep! There he goes, Aaron! Let's wave, huh?"

"Bye-bye, mou-zee! Bye-bye! I wuv yoo!"

John chuckled at his little son blowing kisses to the mouse, before picking him up in his arms, his wet boots be darned. He hoped something of a lesson had been provided for Aaron that day, but he was so young, that could be hard to know. All John could do, as his father, was to keep giving him, CeeCee, and Taylor the chances to learn. Determined to raise his children with a strong sense of care and respect for life, for nature, even in a place like New York City, he would purposely find as many ways as he could to do that.

On that day, though, it all came down to getting the laundry done.

 **A/N: So a routine day of chores and temper tantrums turns into something of a teachable moment for little Aaron. For John also, I reckon. He's learned more about redirecting young children when they get bouncy like Aaron does. Parenthood!**

 **Though I'm not sure that NYC brownstones can have cellar/basements, I decided to create one as the partial setting for this story, given the domesticity of the Reese family. One of these days, I'll have to have them move to the suburbs, haha.**

 **Thanks for reading, and stay tuned!**


	17. Disagreement

**A/N: Haven't been able to get to a lot of fanfic as of late (I told you guys my new job would keep me busier than before, haha), but here's a quickie. Just so you know I haven't forgotten about you—or our favorite partners in justice.**

 **Thanks all, for reading and keeping the fires lit. Excuse any typos, too.**

 **Shot No. 17: Disagreement**

This one wasn't going well.

It wasn't going to go well, either. A line had been crossed. And the one who'd crossed it was in hot pursuit of his new partner as she tried to put as much distance between them as she could.

"Joss, I wasn't gonna let Elias hurt you. I never have, and I never will. Joss!"

She kept going, as if she hadn't heard, the swivel doors of his penthouse apartment almost hitting him in the nose. She was that angry. She was that agitated. He understood why, of course. But that didn't matter. He was resolute in his promise—to himself—to always protect her, and there was just nothing to be done for it.

She should be used to it by now. For the most part, he thought she was. But the stubborn lady cop he'd met that night in her precinct was never far away.

"I had it in hand, John," she spat back at him, her inky black locks loose and flowing down her back. They boarded the elevator to his apartment together, his impatient fingers practically punching the number to his floor out of the wall.

"Oh, did you really, Detective? Didn't look that way to me."

"It never looks that way to you, John. You just burst in, take over the operation, and everybody's just supposed to be grateful for that. Well, yes, I am often grateful. But tonight, not so much. And not because of Elias. You, John. _You_ are the one I have to find a way to deal with. Not him. How do you think that makes me feel?"

The color drained from his face. He'd had bad intel. The Machine had given him bad intel. And he'd acted on it, and now her investigation was compromised. And Elias wasn't her only concern. Internal Affairs would now have to pull her in for questioning. The mission should have been cut and dried. She told him that when he asked her about it. It was. Until he'd decided that she needed his help.

And then all hell broke loose.

But he couldn't apologize for worrying about her. He couldn't help but want to keep her safe from all the badness in her job that would see her dead. Elias was a shady character from front to back, and even if this was just supposed to be what was a routine chat for him about illegal weapons traced back to his organization, John couldn't be certain that her life wasn't in danger. With Carl Elias, anything was possible. He wasn't going to let her go in there without any cover.

"Damn," she swore.

He sighed. The silence that permeated the small space of the elevator lasted until the ding of the bell told them that they had arrived at his floor. It was only then that he remembered the sting of the bruise Marconi landed on his chin, an injury that could have seen a considerable number of his teeth loosened had it landed any higher. His rib cage hurt too. But the silence, the recrimination, hurt more.

"Okay," he said. "After you, Detective."

"I need to go home, John. I shouldn't stay here tonight."

His heart sank and his head turned slightly with an air of despair as they crossed the threshold to his apartment. "Joss, look—"

"No, you look, John. I am a cop. I can do this job more than well. You know that. How many times has it been me to save your butt?"

He looked down at his shoes, the bruise on his chin purple blue. "Countless times, Detective. But who's counting?"

"Right," she said, with a finger to his chest. "Countless times. And while I appreciate you so much for the way you care about me, when I need you to back off, that's what I need. Understood?"

"Damn it, Joss. Elias is not one to toy with! I'm sorry, but you know his history, you know what he's capable of. You weren't going in there without back up."

"Back up, John? You ruined it! 'Back up' doesn't do that!"

He sighed again. "Hey, I'm sorry. Can we—not do this in the hallway here? Walls and ears. You understand."

She took a deep breath. Her casual jeans and button down top were rumpled, smudged with dirt from her own scuffle with Anthony Marconi, and her hair had loosened from the clip that held it in place. Luckily, she hadn't lost her weapon to Elias' right hand man, and it rested securely in her belt.

She was indeed angry with him—but there, in the light of the hall, she had never been more beautiful to him.

Unbeknownst to her she was the most precious thing in his life. No, the hell he wasn't going to let Elias take her down. Even if that meant botching an investigation.

"I'm serious, John. I don't think—I don't think I should sleep over here tonight. We might need to just…cool it a little. After what happened—"

"You can't go home, Joss. Elias and his associates know where you live. That's why you had to get Taylor out of town."

"I know," she said, closing her eyes.

"So, where?"

"Finch. He offered me a spot at one of the safe houses before I agreed to come here with you. The offer is still open."

John pressed his lips into a grimace, as his eyes resigned himself to the fact that he'd fucked up quite a bit. Having had her close to him, in his home, sharing his space, had been wonderful. A fulfillment of a kind of secret wish.

And he'd found a way to ruin it.

"Okay, Joss. I won't apologize for trying to keep you safe. Never that. But if you think the safe house is a better choice than being here with me, then I can't stop you."

"No. No, you can't. We need some boundaries, John. We need some ground rules, from now on. And you need to follow them. My life, my job, could be on the line if you don't. Hell, they already are."

"Yes, I hear you. Just one thing?"

"What's that?"

"Come on in and have dinner with me before you go?"

"John—"

"Just one last time. It's been a harrowing day. You haven't had time to sit to a meal. The ones we've had so far have been…nice. Come on. Have dinner with me. I'll make your favorite."

She cracked a grin, the first he'd seen all day. "You don't know what my favorite is."

"Trial and error, then," he said, with a smirk and a wink. His eyes fixed on her the way they did when he wanted an answer from her—or when he just couldn't help but see her, take in the softness of her lips.

And that smile she was now giving him was a knockout, far more effective and disarming than anything any hired thug could dish out.

"Okay. Dinner. And then—"

"And then?"

"And then, I gotta go pack. You need any help?"

"No, I think I can handle it, Joss."

When they entered the apartment, John had gently brushed Joss' back with his hand to help lead her inside. The silence had returned. She flopped herself on his leather sofa and face palmed herself, the tension in her body most apparent.

John said nothing, merely proceeding to the kitchen to get her supper ready. He wouldn't. He wouldn't apologize, just as he told her, for caring about her. For wanting to see her safe. But he hadn't wanted her to go. In the days she'd been there, the sterile apartment he'd hardly ever slept had become much more like a place he wanted to be in.

Laughter over breakfast. Sharing military stories. Basketball on the sports' channel.

He'd have to have a talk with Finch about his Machine. It was the second time that it had led him on something of a wild goose chase. This time it wrecked Joss' work, with his interference. What would happen the next time?

On the cusp of that last thought, he impatiently tossed a colander on the kitchen island. The clang startled her.

"Glass of wine, Joss?"

"Yeah. That sounds…perfect. Thanks."

"Of course."

"Maybe—"

"Yeah? Maybe what, Joss?"

"Maybe…I'll have a bath first. I don't know. I just feel so—"

"Drained?"

"Yes. Drained."

"Well, you know where it is, Joss."

"Sure. John?"

"Uh huh?"

"I am very angry with you. Very angry. But…I do know that you do what you do because…you care. I know."

Now leaning a hand against the island counter, he turned and focused on the colander, then the floor, then her again. The grimace returned.

"Go have your bath, Joss. When you're done, dinner will be ready."

 **A/N: Well, there goes that. John can get in his own way, or someone else's, namely Joss' and that can make an already skittish girl even more so. Elias is indeed dangerous either way, but she had a plan, and the vigilante her life had another one. Not good when the plans don't mesh. But, as was true in the show, even when John made her made, Joss always came back to him.**

 **Again, just a quickie shot. Thanks for hanging in, and see you soon!**


	18. The Getaway (part I)

**A/N: I've never written a M rated Careese Shot before; however, I am afraid this one will have to start out here (or even a K), and change direction a bit. This first installment, however, will go along the usual way. But even our faves need a little spicy every once in a while, especially with such busy lives. Keep your eyes open, and enjoy. Thanks!**

Shot No. 18 (part I): The Getaway

"Baaddadeeeeeeee...fooooommmm," Baby Cedillia gurgled to no one in particular as she gummed on a teething ring in her playpen. The summer day was winding down, but activity in the Reese household wasn't. While she rolled and crawled around happily in her pen, and her older brother got the last hour in of his nap, her parents were in a frenzy of activity in their living room. Leather suitcases, briefcases, a diaper bag here, a toddler suitcase there, shoes, makeup and shaving kits were neatly situated about the room. Daddy had a pressed suit and tuxedo in two different suit bags, and Mommy had a knockout dress in hers, the single strap black and deep purple number tasteful, yet perfectly glam enough for a night out.

And a night out it would be. A few nights, in fact. The Reeses were set to attend a NY State Lawyers' gala, in which Joss was among a number of honorees for her work on behalf of the city, that would turn into a much-needed private vacation for just the two of them. The pressures, joys, and pains of parenthood to three children, on top of not one, but two increasingly busy careers had certainly given the Reeses a run for their money. Neither one of them could remember ever having been so happy and fulfilled—but neither could ever remember being challenged on the home front before either, especially John.

With Taylor, Joss had the juggling responsibility of but one career and one child, let alone three and now, a new husband and a return to her law practice, even if only still on a part-time basis. At least it was an official part-time basis. Szysmanky's law office had, in recent months, began humming, in no small part to the fact that he had Joss in his small stable of dedicated, results-oriented legal eagles. It hadn't been unusual, with a particularly thorny client or case, for her to kiss her babies and her husband goodbye with a banana and cell phone in one hand and a briefcase in the other, only to roll out of the house at 8am and not roll back in again until after 9pm the same night. She was lucky she had flex time for her children to compensate for those long days, as well as such a good man in John—a completely hands-on father, who could be as flexible as he was without so much as a nod of his head.

But even John was now involved in a venture of his own, with Harold and Lionel, where they managed a new team of vigilante operatives. Having finally let Lionel in on the secrets of the Machine and the surveillance work he and Harold had been doing up to the time he wasn't, the portly cop proved to be indespensible to the team, just as he really always had been. And when matters on the homefront demanded that John be away from the action, it was Lionel, along with Shaw, who stepped up.

John was grateful. It could be a formidable job, and while he wasn't in the field anymore, directing others to do his former work-sometimes from home, sometimes from a safehouse, sometimes from the library where the Machine still lived-as well as thorough vetting and specialized training of new operatives often took more of his time than the numbers themselves used to. The fact that none of them were _him_ , each with their own personalities and approaches to different scenarios was thornier for him to reconcile than running those numbers on his own ever was. But he loved his job, loved still having a voice in keeping the city—the world—safe for a new day. He had Joss and their kids and his life's work. There was no man alive more fortunate than he was.

Corinne, of course, stepped in to be the saving grace for both of them, as she had been from day one. Taylor would go with his brother and sister to lend a hand for that night, but then he had his own moves to make, in that he'd be spending some time with Paul—and his new little brother on dad's side. It had been interesting for him to be the dividing line between these new families. But he'd been able to roll as well as he had with Aaron. It was just another piece of the adventure they'd all embarked upon.

John stopped organizing and packing for a few moments to go over and play with his little princess. Picking her up, he made sure to catch her teething ring before it tumbled onto the floor. Catching her chubby little cheek in a kiss, he made googoo faces and sounds, much to her delight.

"There's my baby," he said softly. "There she is. Daddy's gonna miss his little girl while we're away. Will you miss Daddy, too, honey? Hmm? But you're up for a great time with Gramma, so maybe not so much. Yes, you are, sweetie. Yes!"

After a few seconds of indulging her father's cooing, Cedillia lost focus on him, the sound of the ice cream truck outside their brownstone pulling her attention instead. She turned her head towards the window and pointed at what she was hearing, looking back at her daddy for confirmation. He grinned and kissed her again, before walking her closer to the window to see the truck, as well as the pile of neighborhood kids hoping to get a treat. Cedillia waved to them, though none of them could see her. Daddy smoothed back her ever-growing, dark hair, which was tied up into a ponytail with loose ribbon. Her little bare feet kicked at his ribs in excitement.

"Oh, she's going to be too busy trying to keep up with Aaron to miss us, I think," Joss said, having overheard him, while coming in from the kitchen, her eyes twinkling. Dressed in snug fitting faded jeans and a sleeveless tank, she was the picture of summer health—and sexiness. Her mocha skin had been catching the sun's rays perfectly, and the fullness of her breasts and nipples in the tank caught John's eye immediately. He let his mind go there, let it go to the hotel suite they had picked out—and what he planned to do her there. To what he hoped she'd do to him there. A silent sigh escaped his lips. He willed his nature to calm itself.

"I think I managed to get everything down here that we'll need, John. The kids' stuff is all here. And I believe I'm about done, too."

John, bringing his mind back to the present, looked at all of her trip items as they were they were then, and raised a playful eyebrow to go with his smirk. "Are you sure about that, Councilor?"

Joss smirked back. "You can stay home, you know," she retorted.

"And miss a chance to have you all to myself, lady? Oh, hell no. I will be with you, even if I have to hitch a horse to do it." His own eyes now twinkled seductively, another nod to a promise of things to come.

"Well then, cowboy," she said seductively, while rubbing her thigh against his, sending a jolt of heat through him, "I suggest you save your smart mouth for something more...useful."

At the turn and swish of her hips past him to give her own kiss to Cedillia, John whistled low under his breath.

It was going to be some getaway. Yes, it would be.

##

"Mahmee, we go to Gwamma howse?" Aaron asked as Joss got him soaped up for a good bath after his nap. She had just informed him that he was, but he asked her again, as was his habit, perhaps to weigh that bit of information a little more.

Joss grinned at her baby boy. "Yes, yes, you and CeeCee are going to spend some time with Grandma this weekend," she repeated. "Daddy and I are going out for a little while."

Aaron wrinkled his little nose as a droplet of water hit it from the soft washcloth. His baby soap dripped over his belly, while Joss rinsed suds through his dark, tousled hair.

"Close your eyes, baby," she commanded gently as the water ran down his face. He did so, sputtered and sneezed a little, and then picked up one of his floating plastic cars before continuing to talk with her.

"We go to Gwamma howse?"

"Mmm hmm," she answered, her arms now wet with her son's play in the water.

"Why'come, Mahmie?" he asked, though, of course, she had already mentioned that too.

"Because, baby, Daddy and I have to go somewhere for a little while."

"Whar' go, Mahmie?" he asked.

Joss grinned again before smoothing his hair back and kissing his little forehead. Her son was already almost as good an interrogator as she had been in the Army.

"Daddy and Mommy are going on a little trip, that's all."

"Me an' Ceedee, too?" he asked further, his eyes wide for a response.

Joss sighed and smiled at him while adjusting his little body to rinse off more of the soapy water. "No, baby. This isn't a place for babies like you and your sister."

"I nah baby," he said. "Baby Ceedee da baby."

"You will always be my little baby, boo-nut," she cooed at him. "I love you. And you won't even miss us. You'll see!"

"Woooshh...sploooooommmmmmm," he said, making his water car go through the water. Joss made the same sounds in kind as she followed his lead. For the time being, at least, Aaron had no more questions to ask.

##

John began loading suitcases and baby items into Joss' new Escalade, a present she'd decided to buy for herself with the bonus she'd received from clocking in considerable billable hours for her little firm, even as a part-timer. John would drive them to their destination, but it was clear that Joss owned that vehicle, from choice of interior to the decision on tinted windows. John was still content with his Volvo SUV—but he had to admit that his wife had excellent taste in luxury vehicles. The Escalade moved smoothly through the city whenever he borrowed it from her, and it was perfect for the image they would present at the benefit. He had no use for the snooty legal eagles they'd have to schmooze with during the banquet, but he'd do his part to support Joss, black tie and all. Besides, afterwards he'd have her all to himself—and that was worth all the annoyance from cutthroat lawyers, other than his wife, of course, who smelled blood money at all corners.

Joss busied herself in getting a last-minute mini-meal into both kids, as well as putting in a call to Taylor about heading over to his grandmother's house as he'd promised, in order to help out with them. Aaron had been a little stubborn at first, mildly refusing to eat his chicken and rice, instead taking the drumstick to play airplane ride with it while his sister watched him, and clapped in her high chair between her own dinner. Since he had an audience, he'd kept it up for a little while—until his mother's gentle scolding, as well as the fact that he remembered that he really loved his mother's chicken and rice, and so, began to eat in earnest. His little spoon went into his mouth sideways when he wasn't fully focused, which threatened to undue the effort in getting him a bath and a change of clothes, but so long as he ate, his mother would be happy. Cedillia also partook in a bit of the chicken pieces, but instead of rice got a small helping of mashed potatoes.

"Okay," John said from the entryway. "Everything's packed. I'll check the alarm system again, and then we should be set." Frowning a little in the direction of the children eating a near-full meal, he asked, "I thought they were going to eat at your mom's. We'd better get a move on, Joss."

She shrugged. "Aaron said he was hungry. You know how he gets when he doesn't get fed. We'll get up there in time. Kids first, honey!"

Indeed. He loved his little boy more than a million lives, but he had to admit this weekend would be nice without the tantrums of a two year old screaming for applesauce.

"Mahmee?" Aaron suddenly asked.

"Yes, baby?"

"I wan' milk," he replied.

"Please?" his father reminded him.

At the suggestion that he should remember his manners, Aaron began to kick at his high chair and whine softly.

"I wan' milk! I wan' it!"

John's tone grew slightly stern. This was Aaron's new thing. Crying when he was asked to do something he knew to do. Him saying 'please' and 'thank you' wasn't usually an issue.

"'Please, Mommy, can I have some milk?'"

They were a united front. Neither parent would budge until he used his manners.

Aaron understood this. However, he was still in a testy mood. That meant picking up his drumstick suddenly and throwing it on the floor.

"Noooo! Nooooo!" he began to cry. The impending separation between he and his parents loomed over his little world. Of course it did. But he only knew to throw his food on the floor.

John remained firm while slowing bending over to pick up the drumstick for the trash bin. "'Please first,' Aaron."

Aaron's response was to shove his teddy bear bowl of rice away, which nearly ended up on the floor, were it not for his father's quick reflexes.

"Okay, I guess you're done with dinner then. Let's go, Aaron. Now." he said.

Aaron's fussing turned into full on wail-and-kick in his high chair, his little sneakers banging against the legs. John was unmoved as he proceeded to lift his son out of the chair for a little talk in the living room, just the two of them. He would calm him down. He'd make it okay.

"Nooooo, Daaahdeeeeeeeeeee...noooooooo..." Aaron wriggled and twisted his body as much as he could. But his father was stronger, and he knew he was outmatched. The only thing for it was to cry louder.

"Sorry, Aaron, we don't throw our food on the floor. Let's go. Come talk with Daddy."

Cedillia, seeing her brother in distress, began to cry as well. It was a vertiable symphony of crabby kids.

So much for feeding them before leaving them. Joss caught the look of quiet consternation on her husband's face. She read his thoughts. They were her thoughts too.

"I know, baby. I know how badly we need this trip. Believe me, I do know."

With his free hand, John took the baby spoon that had fed Cedillia her potatoes and replaced it with his fingers. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it soundly, even with Aaron doing his best to wear himself out .

"I love you, Jocelyn Reese," he said, a lilt of warmth in his voice.

"I wuv yoo, too, Dahdee," Aaron replied through his tantrum, before his mother could.

"Come on, son. Come have a little talk with Daddy, okay? It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

The Escalade awaited them outside.

 **A/N: I enjoy writing Aaron behaving as an older toddler would, brattiness and all. Such odd territory for John Reese—but he's learning, for sure! Poor thing. Perhaps John's talk will calm him down.**

 **Working on the next as we speak. Look for it in the M section (haha!). Thanks for reading!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: A father-daughter day out leads to a run in with an unexpected figure. Enjoy!**

Shot No. 19: Chance Encounters

"Okay, baby girl," John said to his daughter. "We're all done visiting at Uncle Harold's safe house, so now the rest of the day is all about you and me. Ready to go, my sweet girl? The petting zoo is waiting for you!"

"Dah! Go! Go!," Cedillia replied in kind. She could see somehow from her carrier that Daddy was taking her to where the animals were, and she was most excited. It was an occasion that she was out with her father alone; Aaron was off at his half-day nursery program, while Taylor worked hard at his senior honors classes at Brooklyn Magnet. Mommy was having an afternoon at home, recharging in the quiet of a childless brownstone after assisting on rather trying murder trial that ended in a win for the defense. She had earned her time. And John was more than happy to let her take full advantage of a house of complete solitude.

Besides, the day was perfect for some daddy-daughter time, and John, after a somewhat harrowing mission of his own, securing the safety of a rather prominent Latin American diplomat with a price on his head, was glad to be doing something a lot less dangerous and far more domestic for a change. The man who lived on danger and risk still did; but becoming a father of three kids had tempered that just a little bit. Just a little bit.

##

After an hour-long debrief with Finch on his next potential foreign rendez-vous at the safe house—and a diaper change for Cedillia—John, sporting cozy jeans, cowboy boots, and a dark blue pea coat, and armed with a baby bag and a Metro Pass, decided to take his daughter on a little adventure on the New York Subway towards the heart of midtown. The little girl was always up for a ride on the subway, so many people and things to take in. It could have all been too much sensory overload, but little CeeCee was never overwhelmed. She loved the rush and bustle of the train cars and all the people that got on and off at any given stop.

She was especially fond of the other children who boarded with their parents, as they all made secret communications with one another that John, with all his espionage training, had no hope of decoding. Once in a moon, she'd point and look to her daddy for info on some stranger or other, from the flowery office worker to the somewhat dodgy looking guy attempting to busk for change with his guitar. John would just nod and say, "yes, baby. I see" each time, before giving her a peck on the forehead, or running his fingers through her curly ponytail.

Once they deboarded the train and hiked up the steps, John and his baby girl stopped at the picnic tables at Bryant Park. There, he sat with a quick lunch for himself, picked up from the café, while trying to feed her snacks from her baby bag. She, of course, was far more interested in the turkey, swiss and soft roll her father was eating, as well as his packet of potato chips and bottled water.

John laughed at his daughter's antics on that crisp yet sunny autumn day. As the movers and shakers of the city came and went, Cedillia kicked and grasped at John's lunch each time he put it to his mouth for a bite, only to, in the nick of time, put it out of her reach.

"Uh uh, that's for Daddy. Here, eat your peach slice, baby," he cooed, gently, so proud that she was his little princess.

"Da! Da!" she replied, but took the peach slice in her little hand and put it to her mouth.

John kissed his baby on the forehead and pulled her little knit hat back to run his fingers through her ever growing dark curls yet again. She sat on his lap while she snacked on her peach. The light breeze was cold, but not so that they couldn't enjoy the sunshine and the general pulse of New York City. Even after a number of years of living there, of risking his life for its people, John could never see himself tiring of the place. He was happier in New York than he could ever remember being at any other time in his life. The little girl wiggling on his lap was living proof of that.

After their lunch, he put her down to walk a little on the sidewalk, but with the constant traffic jams of pedestrians on the sidewalks—stockbrokers, advertisers, artists, computer geeks, accountants—Cedillia ran the risk of getting a bit spooked by it all, not to mention separated from her daddy. It was safer for him to just carry her.

The petting zoo at Central Park wasn't all that far away as it was anyway. Cedillia held on, in her carrier, to her father's dark blue pea coat buttons, which she found great fun to play with. Her own little dark blue parka stayed nicely zipped—which was saying something, since she was now fascinated by buttons, zippers and clasps, and how to best undue them. She was her father's daughter, never meeting a barrier or a locked puzzle she didn't try to get open.

"Okay, CeeCee, here we are. Hey, how about we get some little food for the goats? I think they're hungry!"

"Mmm, yah!" she replied to her father's suggestion. She was getting better at manipulating small amounts of goat food, as her big brother Aaron had been showing her what happened when he put the little bits of kibble near the farm animals' mouths during their previous outings to the petting farm.

John pulled change out of his pocket while his baby girl continued to survey the world from the pouch on her father's chest. He had a small baggie in his pocket, and opening it up, paid for a sizable amount of food for feeding from the dispenser. When the food was secure, he once more unhooked the carrier and let the baby free to waddle around in the leaf-covered grass. Other small children with their parents also had the same idea, so it was indeed the goats and alpacas' lucky day.

"Come, baby," John said to Cedillia, holding his hand out to her. It was necessary to gently call her again, as her attention was taken by the antics of a couple of squirrels chasing one another for their share of nuts.

"Gah? Dahdee? Gah?" she asked, pointing to the squirrels.

"Those silly squirrels," he said, chuckling. "They'd better hurry on with putting their stash together. The season's getting shorter. Come. Let's go feed the goats."

Cedillia took her father's hand as he continued to extend it, and they walked over to the pens where the animals were housed. Straw covered their enclosures, and as expected, they were doing a brisk business in kibble. When they approached, John opened the bag and handed her two small pieces of greyish looking pellets that never looked like much to him, but that the animals lived for.

"Okay, honey, it's your turn," he said.

Little CeeCee grabbed a small handful of kibble and slowly walked up to the baby goat nearest to the pen fence. John was touched by the scene, of one baby sharing a moment with another. The little goat eargerly took the kibble from CeeCee's hand, and she used her other hand to lightly rub the bit of the kid's nose that she could reach.

"Gah eet, Daddah!" CeeCee exclaimed to her father. In turn, John chuckled, and moved closer towards her, to hand her a little more kibble.

There was a sizeable crowd at the petting zoo. School groups, grandparents and grandchildren, stay-at-home moms, nannies.

It was such a normal, wholesome scene that John couldn't quite understand why he felt the hairs suddenly stand on his neck.

The voice behind him soon explained that well enough.

"Hello, John." the voice said softly, but unmistakebly.

John stopped giving his child the kibble, stood up straight and looked straight ahead.

"Elias," he replied. At his knee, CeeCee wiggled and stamped her feet in delight at having fed the kid yet again. John bristled even more so with his daughter in tow.

"Fancy seeing you here, John."

"What are you doing in an animal petting park, Elias? Friend to the animals all of a sudden?" John asked softly, almost menacingly.

"Ah, I love Central Park in the fall. The colors, the scents, the early darkness. It's always been my favorite time of year. Something magical about it. Don't you think so, John?"

John continued to stand wary, but he eased on it just a bead. Elias was an old associate, if only a slippery one. He knew him well enough to understand that if he had something in the works, he wouldn't dare pull that something in a park full of children. While he hadn't been lucky enough to have the same kind of family arrangement many of the youngsters had in his own youth, John knew Elias wasn't generally in the business of putting kids in danger—save for two incidents he'd best never forget, one involving Taylor.

Still, John was grateful for the cease fire. There was little he could do to protect the public with CeeCee in tow, if the mobster was in the mind for mayhem.

"Yes, it has it charms, Elias. And I suppose everybody has to take a moment to stop and watch the leaves from time to time."

Elias grinned, but returned comment while standing next to John, his gaze fixed on two little boys sitting across from them in the grass, superhero action figures in tow.

"You wouldn't think I could appreciate such a thing, eh, John?"

John slowly turned his head, just slightly, so as to acknowledge his sometimes nemesis, sometime collaborator, and keep his eye on his daughter.

"I wouldn't put anything past you," he said.

Elias turned his attention to CeeCee and gestured toward her. "This your little girl?"

"Yes, Cedillia. We call her CeeCee."

"She's beautiful, John. A perfectly beautiful little girl. I hear congratulations are in order. I must say I never thought of you and Detective Carter. But then, you were good at hiding your soft side."

"Carter and I always had a bond, Elias. It just got stronger after the incident with HR."

"You mean, after Simmons shot the good detective, nearly killing her," Elias said, with a soft smile.

"Yes, after Simmons shot Joss."

"You know, I took care of Simmons. He is no longer Detective Carter's nor the taxpayer's problem anymore. I never got a thank you, John. From the good detective, Harold, not even you."

John turned his head for a second. Here it was. Elias was nothing if not a fisherman.

"No proof it was you, Elias. Simmons had a lot of enemies. Within and without HR."

"John, John," he said. "do you really underestimate me so? I'm hurt."

"No, I'd never do that, Elias. If you'll excuse me, I need to keep watch over my daughter."

As John moved closer to Cedillia near the fences, and then near the open ground where she had wandered to, Elias followed. That unnerved John just a little, but he didn't stop him from doing so.

"Is she your only one? Of course, you know I remember Taylor very well after my attempts to enlist him as a bargaining chip with the good detective. But he's her son—not yours."

John felt a flash of anger at the memory of Elias and his henchman Anthony, kidnapping Taylor in a hail of gunfire from his school. That was one of two instances where he was willing to hurt a child. The other was Leila. And John had to stop them both.

"No. We also have another son. Aaron. He's approaching three. And I do consider Taylor one of my children, regardless of biology."

Elias stopped behind him. He grew suddenly very quiet.

"A son. A son of your own, to take your name. He must be the light of your life."

"He is. A demanding job being his father, but it's the best job I'll ever have."

Elias was silent for several seconds.

"I have always admired you, John. But I never envied you. Until now."

"You could have this, too, Elias."

Elias grinned, loudly enough that Cedillia heard him. She turned away from watching other children play near her, and focused her big-eyed gaze on him, before pointing and asking her daddy about him.

"Eee-baa?" she asked.

John grinned and bent down to pick her up. Walking over to Elias, he introduced them. Cedillia smiled.

"Elias, this Cedillia. Can you say hi, CeeCee?"

On cue, the baby waved at Elias. The hardman gangster smiled openly, his eyes full of warmth behind the thin-framed glasses.

"Hello, Cedillia. You are a lovely little one."

"Boooooommmmmphh," she replied. He smiled more.

John repeated himself. "You could have this, Elias."

Elias sighed and smirked in resignation.

"Ah, John. You always have believed that anybody could be redeemed, haven't you? Even me."

"Why not?" John asked.

"You know, I once thought of leaving my profession behind. Finding a partner, settling down, children. I came close. But circumstances being as they have been, it wasn't in the cards, John."

"Don't give up, Elias."

"I appreciate your vote of confidence. But I'm afraid, no. Not all of us can reconstruct a new fate out of ashes the way you have, John. Not all of us." At that point, he pointed his head downward, fixed on no point in particular.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the gesture had passed. That could have had something to do with the fact that Anthony Marconi, never far from his boss' side, was ambling towards them.

"Everything go as planned, Anthony?"

"You bet, boss. All terms agreed to. Shouldn't be a problem from here on," Marconi responded before acknowledgling John.

"Cute kid. I heard you and Carter were a thing. Must have been great putting them kids into her, man."

"Anthony," Elias cautioned. "Please, not in front of the child. Or her father," he said, smiling.

Cedillia waved to Marconi. Sometimes, John wished his baby girl wasn't so friendly.

"Elias, if you're up to something, we'll find out. You know that," John warned.

"John, if I were you, I'd concentrate all your energies on being the very _best_ father in the world to your children."

"What does that mean, Elias?"

Elias began to walk slowly away from him and CeeCee towards his partner. He stopped and turned.

"Just what I said, John. Just what I said."

The two men continued on, away from John and the baby. The other children ran and screamed, chasing balls, playing tag. John kissed his daughter for the millionth time, and held her just a little longer, close to his chest, as he watched those men become smaller in his view.

Soon it was time to head off. Aaron needed picking up from school.

 **A/N: John's worry is never done, even at a day at the park with his daughter. And Elias can't stay out of trouble. Get a load of that Anthony though. He's lucky John was holding the baby, or he'd have gotten a punch in the the nose for that crack, haha!**

 **Memorial Day weekend allows for a little crack at fic writing. Wanted to update, since I haven't in such a long time. I hope all of you who celebrate enjoy your holiday and stay tuned!**


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